


The Tutor

by 27dragons, tisfan



Category: Marvel (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Escapes, Explanations, Explosions, Ghosts, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kidnapping, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Pressure to Marry, Sex, Victorian-style ghost story romance, dad tony stark, noble Bucky Barnes, period-typical attitudes toward mental disability, tutor Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:34:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 55,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23367793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: When a scandal drives Tony Stark from his family and home, he takes a position as tutor to the children of a far-off boyar. He arrives in the country to find the boyar himself absent and the castle staff mistrustful. The children are their own challenge, the elder openly hostile and the younger entirely too clever for her own good.Despite various mishaps such as the appearance of a ghost, the boy getting himself arrested, and Tony getting lost in the woods, the work is satisfying. Tony is beginning to think he might be able to make a place for himself here... And then the boyar comes home.Now, things arereallyhard.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Comments: 734
Kudos: 804





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of _Jane Eyre_ /Mary Shelley meets Marvel. We couldn't post it in time for the event, but it was inspired by the HEA Marvel Holiday Challenge, prompt #2: "After losing their job as an au pair in New York, Character A accepts a position as a nanny in the castle of a small European principality no one has ever heard of. Character B is a single parent & ruler of the country."

Tony stared out the coach window, watching the countryside roll past in the darkness. The gloomy weather cast a pall over everything, making the land seem as grey as the sky, the cottages dark and dreary, even the trees bent and weeping, when he could see them at all, in occasional glimpses of moonlight. It wasn’t much of a welcome to the country.

But then, Tony wasn’t much in a mood to be welcomed, so perhaps it was fitting.

Disgraced and disinherited, Tony had been forced to flee his home, nearly penniless. Only by chance had he picked up a newspaper just as some passerby was discarding it. He’d thought at first only to, morbidly, see if the gossip columnist’s tongue was still wagging over Tony’s scandal -- but the positions posted section on the opposite page had caught his eye. In particular, one intriguing post:

_James Barnes, Boyar Constanta, seeks experienced and reliable tutor for children of genius level intellect. Must be familiar with maths, science, engineering, physical science, history, and theological systems. Ideal candidate has experience working with children and young adults, creative teaching methods, hands-on experience. Extensive workshop, laboratory, and classroom activities available. All travel expenses paid. Recommended candidate will have two letters of character, plus applicable test scores from qualifying universities._

_Household will provide all living expenses, wardrobe allowance, and adequate leave time._

He’d made his way to the paper’s office and been directed to Mr. Barnes’ factor, who’d inquired into Tony’s schooling and previous positions. Tony hadn’t been able to produce his test scores or the requested references of character, but he’d spoken convincingly enough that the factor accepted his intellectual skills were up to the challenge. And, luckily, it seemed the factor had no time for gossip columns, as he didn’t even blink at Tony’s name.

Tony had been hired on the spot, given a travel purse and direction, and he’d found himself aboard a train that very afternoon.

The trip had been long and complicated. Mr. Barnes, apparently, did not live in a city, or even in a well-traveled countryside. Or within thirty miles of a train station. Tony had changed trains twice, catching sleep as he could, and finally disembarked to find a coach waiting for him, the driver a taciturn man who apparently disapproved of small talk. Tony had, at last, simply slumped back into his seat to watch the scenery go by, and wonder what sort of place his destination was.

The rain didn’t let up at all, and the coach swayed alarmingly from side to side. The horses, big, black brutes with wildly staring eyes, whickered nervously as the coach road narrowed. Something, an animal Tony fervently hoped, made a howling sound off the side of the road. Or, perhaps, hoping it was an animal wasn’t a good plan, as it made nervous horses even more nervous.

The driver rattled the whip a few more times, and the coach picked up speed until they were practically racing over the countryside, the road getting steeper and more curving as they went.

Tony held on to the coach bar, swaying with every bump and jolt.

“Just how much farther have we to go?” he asked the driver. He was almost glad that he had so little luggage to bring with him; if he’d had more than a simple case, it would surely have been jostled loose and fallen on his head by now.

“Top o’ the hill,” the man said, pointing with his whip. He sneered as he said it, and Tony wasn’t certain if the man meant to use the whip on the horses, or on him.

The hill (so called, though it seemed a little more precipice-like than any _hill_ Tony had ever encountered) was dim and black, clouds covering it. A few lights could be seen, not so much twinkling like stars, but more guttering like dying flames. And then the clouds parted, just a little, and by moonlight, Tony could see--

Castle.

He was going to an actual _castle._ Complete with walls and towers and probably a damn moat for that matter.

Dungeons.

He held his breath for a moment, staring into the darkness until another glimpse of moonlight shone on the edifice again.

Yes. Definitely a castle, and not a manor house with fanciful turrets, or a walled town. Castle.

_Lord_ Barnes, then, and not merely _Mr._ Tony wondered why the factor hadn’t corrected him from the start. At least he knew now, and wouldn’t embarrass himself utterly on his first meeting with his new employer.

Tony pulled back away from the window and tried to brush the grime of several days’ travel from his clothes and hair, to present himself as a person who ought to be trusted with the education of children.

The coach finally made its way up the side of the mountain and drove through a narrow gatehouse, complete with portcullis and a great monster of a winch on the far side, although that looked to be a steam-powered crank and Tony would just love to get a closer look at that. Not tonight.

The coach pulled ‘round a great wide drive, paved with crushed stones that had probably been imported, since Tony hadn’t seen any white pebbles anywhere since he’d gotten off the train. Great, grizzly statues of wolves, fully taller than a man, guarded the gate.

“Get on with ye, then,” the driver said, shaking his whip again. “Got t’ tend the horses.”

“Of course,” Tony said, clutching the handle of his case rather tighter than necessary as he climbed down out of the coach. “Should I use the staff entrance? If you could just direct me--”

The driver didn’t bother to respond, pulling the coach around to -- where Tony assumed -- the carriage house would be.

A moment later, there was just him, the rain, and two very terrifying looking statues.

Tony looked up at the nearer statue and tried to dispel the sudden fancy that its ribs were expanding and contracting, just slightly, as if it were breathing. Waiting for the unwary traveler to pass beneath those slavering jaws.

_I’ve been awake far too long_ , Tony chided himself. “The front door it is,” he muttered under his breath.

If he skirted wide around the wolf statue to keep a maximum of distance between him and it, then no one was watching who had to know.

There was a cold iron door knocker, which clacked as Tony rapped it against the plate, and a small window opened in the middle of the door. The face of an older man appeared, staring out. “Who goes this time of the night?”

Tony lifted his chin. “Tony Stark. I’m the new tutor.”

“Can’t say I’m not glad you’re here,” the man muttered. “Stay.” He said like Tony was an ill behaved mongrel dog, and then slammed the little window shut, bolting it.

After a long moment in which Tony was considering rapping on the plate again, a smaller door opened to one side of the gate. “In, come on,” he said. “Maybe the wretched demon-spawn’ll behave, with a good tutor. Up at all hours of the night, carryin’ on, gettin’ into trouble. Making more work for us servants here.” The man was huge, wearing black livery with a white smudge on the front that seemed to suggest a skull. “I’m Frank Castle. C’mon. This way.”

Tony murmured a few pleasantries that Frank seemed to ignore, and followed the big man into the castle. So the children were poorly-behaved. That wasn’t unusual, for children of great intellect. Tony only had to find ways to keep them challenged, and they would -- he hoped -- fall into line.

Frank led him into the castle, stopping to scoop up a -- well, it looked like a portable gas lantern, but the light was steady, and almost blue in color -- to light their way. “The boyar is gone from the castle, right now. Business in the mountains. Aims to be back in a few weeks. Weren’t sure we were going to have a new tutor. You got letters from that fussy fellow, proving yourself? Not that it matters. No one without the letters would come here, of all places. But the boyar will want to see them. Kitchen’s down that hall there, servants in the far wing. You have the governor's suite, right by the nursery.”

Tony had the letters, of course, packed carefully in his case. He should have had them in hand before he even knocked, but he’d been too distracted by the thought of the castle, and then too unnerved by the guardian statues to think of such niceties. He was about to offer to show them to Frank when another thought intruded. “I’m in the-- Isn’t the governess in that suite? Or a nanny?”

“Haven’t got one,” Frank told him. “Nor a nanny, nor a nurse. Them spawnlings need a firm hand, not a nursey.”

Tony opened his mouth. Closed it again. He’d been under the distinct impression that the position was for a _tutor_ , not a tutor-and-caretaker. But he was _here_ , now, and it was far too late to think of leaving again. He might as well see just what he was in for. “How old are the children?” he asked diplomatically.

“Miss Kobik is four,” Frank said. “Spends half her time in the library with books she can’t possibly be reading and the rest of it hiding in the attic. If she isn’t in bed, pretending that she’s scared of everything.”

Tony remembered being four with a clarity that most people lacked, he had found. If the girl’s intellect was anything like his own -- and the factor had assured him that the use of the word “genius” in the posting was not at all an exaggeration -- then he suspected she was reading far more than Frank knew. And that her fears were not all playacting.

“RJ’s the older boy, sixteen, and a hellion in the works if I ever saw one. We’ve chased a girl out of his room twice now, and he’s always getting into the armory. Likes his guns, he does. One of these days, he’s gonna shoot someone and then that’ll be a pretty mess.”

Of the two, Tony rather thought the girls might be the larger problem. He had some idea of how to address proper weapons safety. So much of it depended on the boy’s actual personality, though. A four-year-old might still be molded, somewhat. A sixteen-year-old was nearly a man, and though he had some maturity yet to grow into, the core of him was almost certainly settled. “Well, we’ll see, I suppose,” Tony said philosophically.

If he failed utterly, Lord Barnes might turn him out -- and then he was no worse off than he had been three days ago, after all.

“Previous tutor’s notes are on your desk,” Frank said, and then he handed Tony a small keyring, several keys dangling from it. “Your door, window locks, closet lock, desk lock, school room lock. Workshop, laboratory. If you need access to the smithy for lessons, come see me for that key. The Boyar said you were to have everything you needed. Supplies requests will go through the housekeeper, Elecktra. She’ll see to your requirements. You’ll find Karen Paige in the kitchen, if you’re hungry. Here’s your rooms.”

The heavy door swung open nearly soundlessly to reveal the front room of a small apartment, a sitting room and office combined. It wasn’t large, but Tony didn’t expect he’d need to be entertaining in it. It seemed relatively well-appointed; he’d want to take an inventory of the supplies in the morning and see what he might want to order.

On the far side of the room was another door that led, Tony assumed, into the bedroom. He hoped the bed had linens on it, but he was too tired to care much. Even a bare mattress would be more comfortable sleeping than leaning into a corner of his seat on the train, or trying to doze in the rattling coach. “This all looks fine,” Tony said, tucking the keyring into his pocket. “Thank you for your assistance.”

“Right--” Frank said, then pointed. “Miss Kobik is across the hall. RJ’s two doors down on the left. Or, they were when I did round at the midnight bell.”

Tony glanced back into the hallway, noting the doors, and nodded. “No sense rousing them at this hour, if they’re sleeping. Time enough for us to meet in the morning.”

Frank gave a nod, then slouched off into the castle’s darkness, leaving Tony standing in front of the door to his room.

With no light, Tony realized as Frank turned a corner. And there was no fire laid out in the grate. 

Damn. Well, the rooms were only so big; surely he could feel his way through. Perhaps the bedroom would have a window and a hint of moonlight. He tried to recall the shape of the massive building, the turns and corridors they’d taken on the way here, but couldn’t quite decide whether the governor’s suite was on an exterior wall. He let the door fall shut behind him and carefully extended a leg, feeling with his foot for where he thought the side of the desk was.

Laboriously, he made his way across the small room, stubbing his toe several times and biting down on curses, until he felt the wood of the bedroom door under his fingertips. The door swung open when he turned the knob, thank God, but then Tony realized he had absolutely _no_ idea of the layout or size of this room. He squinted into the darkness, hoping for some sliver of light to give him a hint.

Gradually his eyes adjusted just enough to see a faint bit of light around-- a window’s curtain. It didn’t go very far, admittedly, but there was enough illumination to get him across the room to the curtains, which he drew back.

The room overlooked the courtyard; from the moonlight, Tony could see a wide open flagstoned square, some dark shapes that were probably bushes or flowerbeds. Further out, the beginnings of what looked like it might be a hedge maze, or a butterfly garden. Across the courtyard, a tower rose out of the ground, like something a princess might dwell in, waiting for rescue. 

There was a light at the very top of that tower.

He turned around to see what had been revealed of the room to see a white shape with glowing, feral eyes, staring down at him.

Tony yelped and scrambled back, lifting his case in front of him as if it could shield him--

Cat. It was only a cat. 

Tony sagged against the wall, panting through the rush of fear. “Good Lord,” he gasped. “Don’t do that.” And now he was talking to the cat.

How it had gotten into the room, sealed behind two doors, was anyone’s guess, but -- well, it was a cat, after all.

A moment later, Tony’s door smashed open and a lithe figure wearing a white dress darted in front of him, holding a knife. “What, what is it--” She planted tiny bare feet on the floor like she was going to go into battle with a giant and brandished the weapon. Then blinked. “Who are _you_?”

There was light flooding in from the hall, at least, through the little study and into Tony’s bedroom, so that was good.

It was a little girl.

“You must be Miss Kobik,” Tony said. “I’m Mr. Stark. The new tutor.” He took a breath, letting the last of the startled jitters bleed out of him. “You must have very good hearing, for that little bit of noise to wake you up all the way in your room.”

She gave him a sharp look, too sharp for a four year old, really. “Someone walked by the door,” she said. “I _always_ wake up.” Gingerly, she pulled up her night rail and put the knife back in a sheath she was wearing on her leg. It was a tiny little knife, but after all, she wasn’t a very big child, either.

“That would have been Mr. Castle and me,” Tony said. “I’m sorry we disturbed your rest. Shall I take you back to bed, or would you prefer to go on your own?”

“Papa sent you to take care of us,” she said. “Didn’t he? Me an’ RJ, an’-- yeah, take care of us. An’ Alpine, but he can take care of himself. I’m waked up now. Are you hungry? I’m hungry.”

“Yes, he did,” Tony agreed. “It’s too late for eating. It would be rude to wake the kitchen staff, when they must be up before dawn to start the bread.”

“What do we need them for? You can’t make a sandwich and tea?” She grabbed hold of his wrist, tugging. “Come on, I’m _hungry_. You’re s’poseded to take care of me. Papa wouldn’t want me to be _hungry_.”

“Your papa would also expect you to be asleep at this hour,” Tony pointed out, amused at her guileless attempt to manipulate him. “Let’s go get you something to drink, and then you can wait on food until breakfast is ready.”

She eyed him suspiciously, then huffed out a great sigh. “Oh, all right, I s’poooose. Why’s it so dark in your rooms?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have a lamp.” Tony offered her his hand. “Will you show me where the kitchen is?”

“Uh-huh,” Kobik said. She didn’t take his hand, but looked at it, turning it over twice as if to inspect it. “You have grease on your knuckles.”

“I’m not terribly surprised.” No matter how well Tony washed, there always seemed to be grease caught in some wrinkle or under his nails. And he hadn’t had much time for washing, the last few days.

“Well, what’s that say about you?” Kobik stared at him impatiently. “Miss Bane, our _governess_ said that a lady is known by her hands.” She held up one grubby little hand with little scabbed over nicks and smears of dirt. “So, I want to know what grease means. If I’m s’posed to be reading _hands_ as well as words.”

“Grease,” Tony said carefully, “means that I do a lot of work with things that use grease. Mechanical things, mostly. And that I haven’t had access to a bath for a few days. What did Miss Bane say about your hands?”

“That I’s _uncouth_ , and and and, a hoyden, an’ weren’t never going to catch a husband if I didn’t learn proper manners.” She scowled and stalked off down the hall, toward, presumably, the kitchens. “I run fast, I can catch a husband if I want one. Don’t know why I want one.”

Tony snorted. “Well, maybe you don’t. Many people do, but not until they’re much older. The real reason to learn proper manners is that a lot of people -- especially wealthy and powerful people -- won’t pay you any attention unless you can display pretty behavior. And sometimes you need those people to help you.” He sighed. “It’s a cynical worldview, but I’m often like this when I’m very tired.”

“Papa helps me,” Kobik said. She shrugged. “This is the kitchen. You c’n get a taper in here, I know where they are. An’ an’ a glass of water. An’ maybe? A little bit of bread and jelly? Please?” She gave him a wide, insincere smile, putting on her company manners, Tony supposed.

“I suppose, since you are helping me by finding me a taper -- and a match, if you know where those are as well -- then I might see my way clear to a bit of bread and jelly. It’s not to become a regular occurrence, however.” He tried for stern with that last line, but rather suspected he had failed to hit the mark.

Kobik took a taper out of one of the drawers, and then pointed. “Lucifers are in the jar up there. Papa says they’re to be out of reach of little hands.” She displayed one of her own hands again. “And bread’s here, and, and, and… oh, cheese is out, and--” She cupped up her night rail like a big pocket and started stashing food in it, like she was preparing to hibernate for the winter season or something.

“No,” Tony said. “You’re having a _little snack_ , to last until breakfast, not an entire meal.” He plucked most of the items back out of her makeshift basket and put them back on the counter. “Bread and jam, that was our bargain.” He sliced off a generous piece of bread and smeared it with a spoonful of the jam. “Here.”

She made a pout, but didn’t argue with him, eating her snack quickly. “Papa made Miss Bane leave,” she informed him. “After she called me a _little hoyden._ And that we’d get a better teacher. Are you better, Mr. Stark?”

“Well, I don’t know Miss Bane, so I can’t say for certain,” Tony said. “But I certainly hope so. I expect we’ll find out.”

An enormous clock in the main hall -- or at least, Tony assumed, since he couldn’t actually see it -- tolled the hour with a clanging racket. Kobik squinched her face up and put her hands over her ears, forgetting entirely that she had a jam sandwich in one hand. Which promptly ended up in her hair.

“Oh, _ick_ ,” she said, once the clock finished announcing that it was three in the morning.

Tony sighed and pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead for a moment before looking around for the pump. “Come here, let’s see how much of that we can get off you before it all ends up on your pillow.”

“Sorry,” she said, sounding like she was going to cry. “I forgotted.” Which didn’t seem to stop her from picking a few hairs out of the jelly and continuing to eat it while Tony wet down a cloth and wiped off her hair.

“That clock is very loud; I’m sure it must be a bit startling from time to time.” He managed to get most of the jelly out of her hair, leaving it damp and a little sticky, but unlikely to utterly befoul her bedclothes. “There, that will do until morning. We’ll see you get a proper bath tomorrow.”

Kobik shuddered, the way most children did, at the word _bath_. But when she finished her bread, she yawned, and allowed Tony to take her back to her room. “Will you check? Sometimes, when I’m not here, she sneaks in,” Kobik said. “Just make sure she’s not here.”

Tony gamely peered through the door into Kobik’s room. “She... who?”

“Nobody,” Kobik said, glumly. “Nobody’s here. But sometimes, sometimes she _is_.”

“The cat?” Tony wondered. He gave the room another look, then straightened the blankets on the bed and pulled them back for her.

Kobik looked at her bed, looked at Tony as if attempting to gauge how serious he was about the whole going-to-bed thing. After a moment, she either decided that he meant it, or she was, in fact, tired. Climbed up into bed. “Maybe she’s in your room, instead.”

“Perhaps,” Tony agreed. “If so, I’ll deal with her when I see her, but otherwise, I intend to get some sleep.”

Kobik made a sleepy noise, snuggled into the blankets and closed her eyes, the very picture of a biddable child. Then she opened one eye and said, “Did you know if you die in a dream, you’ll die in your sleep?”

How morbid. “Well then,” Tony said, “try not to die before morning, Miss Kobik.” He patted her head -- yes, still quite sticky from the jelly -- and left the room.

Tony’s own room was free from the Nobody as well, although the cat had taken up occupancy on his bed, in the very center, a determined roll of white fluff. The room itself was decently decorated, a full, plump bed with several layers of blankets, a trunk at the foot and a corner-closet for his clothes. The desk was neat, tidy, and had a stack of papers bound with string on the top. A small bookshelf held various scientific and other educational texts in various states of age and shabbiness. There were a few slates and a handful of slate pencils as well. The top slate looked like someone had been practicing their cursive letters; the F, G, and H were done with a wobbly hand.

Tony gave it all a cursory glance as he was shedding his clothes -- he would review everything with more attention in the morning, once he wasn’t so tired his vision was blurring. He pulled back the blankets on the bed and climbed in, nudging the cat gently. The cat seemed disinclined to move, so Tony arranged himself around it as best he could, and promptly fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Twice the giant clock in the front hall woke him up, once when it rang the four o’clock hour, and again at five, before he finally slept soundly enough to get all the way through until nine. He thought, perhaps, when the clock rang five that he’d heard something _else_ in the room, but a quick sit up and look around revealed only the cat, looking at him like he was quite mad, indeed, and one of his papers had slipped from the desk onto the floor.

He would deal with it when it was at least light outside, he decided.

Not much past the nine bell -- and Tony was pondering whether or not he could get back to sleep fast enough to ignore the ten bell, or not -- he decided he should probably get up, rather than tempt it. Also, why was there such an enormous, god-awful clock in the castle anyway? Who needed to know what time it was in the middle of the night?

Which turned out for the best, because a few moments after he’d gotten up, washed his face, and started the process of getting dressed, there was a ruckus in the hallway, slamming doors and shouting, and Kobik _shrieked_.

Tony stretched his legs, following the sound. “Kobik? Are you hurt?”

The girl raced at him, burying her face against his thigh, clinging hard. “It’s _on fire_ ,” she told him, sniffling.

“Where is that brat?” Frank stomped up, hands sooty and smelling like burning paper. 

Kobik shrank even further against Tony’s leg. “I didn’t do it,” she protested. “You saw me, I wented to bed!”

“You did,” Tony agreed, though he had no assurance whatever that she’d _stayed_ in bed. “What’s happened?” he asked Frank, hoping for some kind of explanation that made sense.

“ _Someone_ was in the library,” Frank said. “After they should have been in bed. With an unguarded taper. And then someone fell asleep there. Fortunately, the fire was contained to the waste bin, and old newspapers. But it could have been worse.” He glared, at Kobik, back down the hall, at Tony.

“Let us be grateful that it wasn’t,” Tony said. “I put Kobik back to bed around three. I doubt she’s at fault.”

“If it weren’t her, then was the other one,” Frank said, darkly. “It’s your job to keep those kids in line. And clean up th’ mess in the library. Housekeeper doesn’t have time to tend to it.” He stomped off, muttering and throwing up his hands.

“We’re late for breakfast,” Kobik told him, in a tiny voice, after Frank was out of earshot. “I went to get some breakfast an’ an’ an’ there was smoke coming out of the library.”

“You did just right,” Tony assured her. “Is your brother at breakfast yet, do you know?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t see him. Maybe he’s still sleepin’.”

“It’s possible,” Tony said, though if the boy had set the fire, he might well have fled and hidden to escape retribution.. “Well, no sense worrying about things on an empty stomach. Let’s go have breakfast, and then we’ll see about the library.”

Kobik agreed readily and actually took Tony’s hand, cautiously. As if she was afraid he might reject her, or burn her, but when he just smiled, she seemed to relax. She was dressed in an outlandish mix of clothing, an English-styled pinafore dress but embroidered pants on underneath in the Romanian style, with fur-lined boots and a wide belt.

There were three covered dishes on a tray just inside the kitchen. The cook sighed and waved a hand at him. “Your breakfast’s gone cold, but there 'tis. You want hot eggs an’ bacon, need to get up at seven.”

Kobik made a face. “Cold eggs are fine, Miss Page,” she said, dutifully.

“It was a late night,” Tony explained. “I expect to be more timely tomorrow.”

A few minutes after that, a boy, maybe fifteen, sixteen years old with damp hair and a smudge on one side of his throat, came into the room. “What was all the fussing about? Can’t a man sleep around-- who are you?”

“I’m Mr. Stark. The new tutor. And you’ll be RJ, I’m guessing.”

“Don’t need a tutor,” RJ said. “There’s nothing _you_ can teach me.” 

“Papa said we were to have one,” Kobik said, looking up from her plate of eggs, yolk on her chin.

“Barnes is no father of mine,” RJ sneered. “And I don’t have to do what he says. Nor you, either.”

“And yet you see fit to eat his food, wear clothes he provides, and sleep under his roof,” Tony murmured. He studied the boy, all brash swagger, too desperate to be thought a man to really consider what that meant. “As for what I can teach you -- well, you never know, do you? Or maybe you have something to teach me, instead. Come to the schoolroom after breakfast, and we’ll see.”

RJ sneered even harder. “You look soft,” he observed. “Teaching _children_. Can you shoot a gun, Mr. Tutor?”

“I’m familiar, yes,” Tony said mildly. RJ was obviously looking for a field to challenge Tony on. Tony was more than happy to give it to him, really, if it would save them having to have this argument every day.

“After breakfast,” he said, pointing out the kitchen window toward a meadow. “The Boyar maintains a shooting range just past the outbuildings. I’ll see you _there_.” He scooped up his plate and disappeared with it, while the cook shrieked about him stealing the dishes and misplacing the silverware and--

“He set fire to the library, I just know he did,” Miss Page said. “You saw it, you saw the ash on his neck, like he tried to wash up after and missed a spot.” She shook her finger at Tony, like she was scolding him. “He’s _trouble_. They both are.”

“They’re children,” Tony said. “I’d worry if they _weren’t_ some trouble. I’ll see that the plate and silver are returned.”

“Little thief,” the woman muttered, and went back to her cooking or dishes, or whatever it was she was doing. 

“RJ isn’t _that_ bad,” Kobik said, dragging Tony away from the kitchen as if they were all going to get grounded, or sent to bed without supper or something.

“I didn’t really think he was,” Tony assured her. “I remember being his age.” He reached out and ruffled her hair, then grimaced at the stiff-sticky feel. “Bath, definitely. Possibly before lunch.”

Kobik looked up at him, then, “I’ll take a bath now, if I can come watch the shooting match?”

“I’ll take that deal,” Tony agreed. “Who draws your bath for you?”

“Um--” Kobik looked around like someone she didn’t know was going to pop out of the woodwork to volunteer. “I-- no one, right now?”

“Does that mean you’ve been doing it yourself since Miss Bane left, or that you simply haven’t had a bath in that long?” Tony asked. He honestly wasn’t certain which answer would horrify him more. It depended, he supposed on how long it had been since Miss Bane had left.

“I haven’t done it,” she said. “I’m not allowed to carry hot water.”

“Well, thank the Lord for small mercies,” Tony said. However smart she might be, she was still a small child. “But that means you are _well_ overdue. Show me where the bathing room is, and then I shall talk to Ms. Page about a couple of buckets of water.”

There was a small bathing room just off the nursery where Kobik slept, whimsically decorated with a mosaic of colored tiles somewhat reminiscent of stories Tony had read about Turkish baths.

There was a rather large pile of clothing on the floor, too. 

Tony picked up a shirt and held it up. “RJ’s,” he guessed. “Does he always do this?”

"Uh huh. He's still waiting," she said. "I don't know if we have any soap left."

“Waiting? Waiting for what?” Tony began poking through the cabinets to see if he could find soap.

"To see when Papa will hit him," she said, matter of fact. "He thinks Papa tells lies."

The breath left Tony’s lungs in a heavy whoosh. “Well,” he managed. “Some parents lie, and some parents hit. I don’t know your Papa yet. Do you think he’s lying?” At the back of a cabinet, he found a bar of rough-cut soap and pulled it out.

Kobik sat down on the edge of the tub, resting her chin on her hands as if deep in thought. "Papa hasn't hit us. Not _ever_." She looked up at Tony. "Are _you_ going to?"

“No,” Tony said. “I’m here to teach you. Hitting you would only teach you to be afraid of me.”

Kobik gave him a very cheerful sort of smile. "Very well," she said. "I'm not afraid of _you_."

“I’m glad to hear it.” Tony worked the pump to fill the tub half-full with water. “Wait here. I’ll be back with hot water.”

"Okay," Kobik said. She stuck her hand in the water, splashing it around. 

Tony made his way back to the kitchen, only making a wrong turn once. “Ms. Page, if you would be so kind, I need a bucket or two of hot water for Kobik’s bath.”

Miss Page didn’t quite act like it was a terrible imposition, and while she got Tony some buckets and directed him to the laundry room where there was an enormous copper cistern, she did not smile or make any polite conversation while involved in the task.

There seemed to be some determination not to like him, Tony thought.

He hauled the buckets back to the bathing room, and set them on the floor. “Okay, clothes,” he prompted. He hefted one bucket and poured it into the tub.

Kobik sighed and started peeling out of her oddly put-together outfit. “I’m not really _that_ dirty,” she said.

“You really are,” Tony said. “Your hair alone...” He tested the water, then picked up the other bucket and poured about half in. “The sooner you get in, the faster we can be done,” he pointed out.

She grumbled a bit more, and then climbed into the bath, making a face at the water’s temperature. “It’s hot.” She curled up a bit to sit, wrapping her arms around scabby, filthy knees that looked like the scrapes had not even been cleaned. 

Along her back were two distinctive, ugly, scars, round and fading red, one on either side of her spine, just below her shoulders.

Tony frowned, wondering what had caused them, but if she even knew, bringing it up would likely just be upsetting. He handed her the bar of soap instead. “You know what to do with this, I assume.”

“Better than a hose,” she said, and rubbed the soap between her hands, frothing up suds. “Why do we take baths? What’s wrong with dirt? It’s all over _everything_.”

“As a rule, people smell better when they’re clean,” Tony said. “Since our society often throws many people together in enclosed spaces, smelling better is, trust me, a near necessity.”

“Miss Bane didn’t smell nice,” Kobik said. “She smelled like violet perfume. Made me sneeze.”

Tony laughed. “Lots of people like the smell of violet perfume. Though if she was wearing enough of it to make you sneeze, then she may have been wearing too much.”

Kobik ducked under and got her hair wet, and let Tony wash it out for her. Stripped of God only knew how many layers of dirt and ash, her hair was almost silver-white, and rather longer than he’d originally thought. “Are we done yet?”

Tony hummed thoughtfully, as if considering it. “What percentage of your body do you think is free from dirt, now?”

Kobik scowled down at the admittedly scummy water. “Eighty-two and a third percent,” she said. “More if I rinse off before I get out.”

“Make it a solid eighty-seven percent, and you can be done,” Tony allowed. He stood up and went back to the cabinets for a towel.

Kobik sighed and went after her neck with the soap again. Finally, she stood up and let Tony wrap her up in the towel. 

“There,” Tony said, tucking the end of the towel in place. “Your hair is so long, I think perhaps we should let it dry a bit before we comb it. Perhaps after your brother has tested my shooting skills?”

“RJ is really good,” Kobik told him. “Almost as good as Papa.”

“Well, I’m only a tutor,” Tony said. “I’m sure I can’t hope to best him, but perhaps I will show well enough for him to allow me to be worth an occasional conversation.” Amused, he gently shooed Kobik back into her room to get dressed.

RJ was waiting for them, less than patiently, as he paced around the range. There were several cases of pistols waiting by the line-up. Kobik, who had put on one of (probably) RJ’s vests as a sort of over-dress on top of her pinafore, was tromping along behind Tony, carrying a basket that contained two dolls and a blanket for her to sit on while watching.

Tony ignored RJ’s glares and impatience, and looked over the pistols appraisingly. They were in excellent condition; whoever maintained them obviously knew what they were doing and had a lot of respect for the craft. “Very nice.” He picked up one of the smaller pieces, probably originally designed as a lady’s last resort, and sighted down the range. “Very nice, indeed. What’s your choice of weapon?”

RJ opened a leather-bound case, marked with a red star. “These are the Boyar’s _personal_ dueling pistols.” They were lovely, sleek and elegant, with inlaid grips and engraved barrels. _Winter Soldier_ was spelled out neatly on the sides. A single shot weapon, they would most frequently be used to settle affairs of honor.

“They’re beautiful,” Tony said honestly. They weren’t Stark-made, but still obviously very high quality. “Are you calling me to accounts, so soon?”

“Papa will be very cross with you,” Kobik said. “So you better delope.”

“I’m not going to shoot him in the chest, you little idiot,” RJ said, then shrugged. “You haven’t insulted me.” There was an implied _yet_ attached to that, but RJ continued. “Twenty paces to the targets. We each shoot once, reload, fire again. And see who’s the better man.”

“We’ll see who’s the better shot,” Tony said. “But that’s far from proving the better man.” He looked at the pistols again. They really were lovely. “Your-- the Boyar won’t be upset that we used his weapons?” Tony’s father would have been enraged if anyone had so much as touched his personal weapons.

“As long as he cleans them,” Kobik piped up. “I’m not allowed, unless Papa is here to s’pervise me.”

“It’s more than most your age would be allowed,” Tony told her. Of course, he’d been about her age the first time Howard had put a pistol in his own tiny hands, himself. He trailed his fingers down the barrels of both pistols, letting the steel sing to him, and then picked up the closer one. He cleared the chamber and checked the sights against the targets. “Bullets?”

“Not like Kobik’s a _normal_ child,” RJ said.

“Shut up,” Kobik said. “Papa said I was _fine_ just the way I am.”

“I believe,” Tony said, a flare of temper heating him from the inside out, “that I am going to have to put a stop to members of this household insulting Kobik -- or you -- within my hearing, and especially your own. It’s despicable.”

“I don’t know why she wants to be _normal_ ,” RJ protested. “What does she want to be like _them_ for? We’re not normal. We’ve never _been_ normal. I’m not normal, she’s not ordinary, and the Boyar is--”

“Shut up!” Kobik shrieked.

“Fine,” RJ said, lining up his sights on the target. “You’re normal and ordinary. Happy now? My shot.” He went silent, took a breath, and squeezed the trigger on the exhale.

Tony loaded his pistol, not looking to see RJ’s results. He pushed down his anger and frustration, let his hands move with careful attention. He faced his target and stared down the barrel at it, feeling the slight breeze of the morning, considering the trajectory path. Of course, with an unknown weapon, there were too many variables for the first shot to be exceptional, but it was a superior piece; he’d get the feel of it quickly enough. He kept both eyes on the target, breathed out slowly, and fired.

“Reload,” RJ said, and Kobik had stopped complaining to watch carefully. She pulled a tiny pair of opera glasses out of her basket and peered down the field. 

As they reloaded the weapons, she said, “I believe in you, Mr. Stark.”

Tony huffed a little, the last of his irritation bleeding away into amusement. “I’m touched by your faith.” He thumbed the hammer into position and took up his stance again. “At your word, sir.”

“My shot,” RJ said again, and he took longer to aim, tension bleeding out of his shoulders, and he fired, then placed his gun down and watched Tony carefully.

Tony considered the weight of the pistol, let himself think about all the small parts that went into its functioning, the way the simple squeeze of the trigger set of a lightning-fast cascade of reactions, the strike of the hammer and the spark on the powder and the explosion in the chamber that propelled the bullet out of the barrel. Everything was connected, the grip and the barrel and the trigger, the pistol and Tony and the target... He fired.

He set the gun down on the cloth and looked at RJ, not the targets. He didn’t care who’d won the match. Mostly, he cared how the boy would react to it.

RJ squinted at the targets, then gestured and they moved closer to inspect. “You’ve fired before,” RJ commented. Both of Tony’s shots had hit the target, one just outside the bullseye, the other just inside, a nice cluster. RJ’s were both in the bullseye, but spread out more widely. In an actual match, both competitors would be just as dead.

Tony chuckled. “Have you ever fired a Stark gun? It’s not by coincidence that I share the name. We specialize in long-range weapons, rifles mostly, but we have a couple of handgun lines. Yes, I’ve fired before.”

RJ raised an eyebrow, his mouth pursing up. “You ever kill anyone?”

“No.” Tony had been in two duels. The first had been _pro forma_ , a matter of honor rather than true insult, and they’d both fired into the sky. The second had been rather more serious, and Tony had shot his opponent in the leg. “I’ve never had cause.”

RJ looked back at the targets. “You should keep it that way,” he said. There was a long pause, then, “Stark Industries, huh? What do you have to teach us, then?”

Tony picked up the pistol again and reached into the case for a cloth and oil. He started cleaning the pretty gun, enjoying the feel of its decorative scrollwork under his fingers. “Well, that depends, I suppose.” He glanced up at RJ with a faint smile. “What are you willing to learn?”

“Not _dancing_ ,” RJ said with a scowl. “Or _French_. Or the damn book of nobles and all their rich relations.”

“Ast’onomy!” Kobik piped up. 

RJ considered that. “Astronomy would be acceptable.” 

Tony pretended to consider that. “We can start there,” he allowed. “I’ll need to evaluate your mathematics skills.” And he could slip in some history while he talked about the stars pretty easily.

“No embroid’ry,” Kobik added. 

“Or penmanship,” RJ contributed. “But fencing would work. And-- chemistry. Chemistry is interesting.”

“Chemistry, we can do,” Tony agreed. “I don’t know embroidery, myself, but if you’ll trust me, it can only be to your benefit to know how to quickly patch and repair a ripped garment, or replace a button. And I’ll allow penmanship to slide as long as your work is easily legible.”

Kobik stared at him. “Why-- you don’t _know_ embroid’ry?” She considered this for a long moment, then-- “I could teach _you_.”

Tony beamed. “That would be very thoughtful of you! I’ve often thought I might like to add some decoration to my shirts.” And if she learned new stitches in order to show them off for Tony, he wouldn’t say anything about it. He turned to RJ. “And what will you teach me?”

RJ was taken aback, as if it had never occurred to him that he might know anything of value to teach it to another person. “You’re a fair hand with a gun,” he admitted. “Do you know fisticuffs? Tracking? How to move in the woods at night without making a sound?”

Good Lord, who’d had the teaching of this boy? “I know a little fisticuffs, but my teacher told me there’s always something to be gained by training with a new opponent. I’m not much of a woodsman at all, so you’ll need to start as if I’m the very greenest of switches, and have a great deal of patience.” Tony would endure tracking lessons if it meant teaching RJ some patience and tolerance. A fair trade.

“Well, then, sister,” RJ said to Kobik, “what say you to all this?”

Kobik extended her hand to Tony. “We have an accord, then, Mr. Stark.”

Tony took it and shook gravely, as if she were a business partner. “An accord, Miss Kobik. And now, I believe we must leave your brother to finish cleaning the weapons and put them away while I attend to your hair.”

Kobik grabbed hold of two large handfuls of her hair, like she was protecting it. “You won’t cut it,” she said, voice trembling.

“I won’t let them,” RJ said, like this was an argument they had regularly. And then he actually looked up at Tony. “Say you weren’t planning it.”

“Not at all,” Tony said honestly. “It may take us some time to work through the tangles, but cutting hair should be the decision of the person it’s attached to.”

“It’s all right,” RJ said, kneeling by his sister. “No more treatments. The boyar said, remember. Go on, go run a comb through that birds’ nest you call hair.”

Tony offered Kobik his hand. “It will take us a while,” he said. “Perhaps we can sit in the schoolroom while we work, and when RJ is done cleaning up here, he’ll come in and read to us to keep us entertained.”

“No sermons,” RJ said. “I won’t read any more Fordyce.”

“I’ll pick out something I hope you’ll both enjoy,” Tony promised. “Agreed?”

“Be up in a bit, then,” RJ said, and he turned to the weapons with care, not hurrying or slamming or being huffy. It was a rather startling change over his aggressive belligerence at breakfast. 

Kobik skipped along beside Tony, swinging his hand wildly as she went, exuberant and cheerful. “Did you teach someone else, before you came here? Miss Bane was always telling us how much better her former students behaved.”

“I’ve never really taught,” Tony said. “I tutored some fellow students, while I was at school, but nothing like this. I shall rely upon you to tell me if I’m doing it all wrong.”

“I don’t know,” Kobik said. “Miss Bane was very different than the Academy. But I think she was still doing it wrong.”

“It certainly sounds as if she failed to show you how much _fun_ learning can be,” Tony agreed. “What Academy were you at, before her? I don’t know of any schools that take students as young as you, no matter how intelligent.” Tony’d had to wait until he was seven before they’d found a boarding school that would take him.

Kobik’s expression fell, and she looked around to see if anyone was listening. “Hydra Academy.”

“I’ve not heard of that one. I take it you didn’t care for it much.”

“I was born there,” Kobik said. “I was supposed to be _special_.”

Tony’s thoughts raced with possibilities -- the child of an instructor or staff member, or even a student? “I think you’re very special,” he said. “Did the academy not agree?”

Kobik drew herself up, and her expression changed to almost blank, bored. “The subject displays extraordinary intellectual capabilities, but lacks discipline or drive. Physical abilities consistent with ordinary age-mates. _Disappointing_.” She sounded flat, emotionless, like she was imitating someone. Then shuddered all over.

Tony frowned. How could they be disappointed that she was growing normally? What had they expected? He remembered the scars on her back, the way RJ had said the word _treatments_ , and came to a conclusion that nearly made him physically ill. “Were they _experimenting_ on you?” he hissed. “That’s... foul.” He didn’t have any worse to actually describe how despicable and horrific it was, and the few that came close shouldn’t be repeated before children.

“To make us _better_ ,” Kobik said. “Then Papa came, and he took us away.”

“Us,” Tony repeated. “You and RJ? Better, how? Were you sick?”

“No, not sick,” Kobik said. “Just-- _better_. Me, and RJ, and N--. Well, it doesn’t matter.” She scrubbed her free hand at her face.

And she was, no matter how smart, a small child who Tony should not be prodding for information, especially since it obviously upset her. “No, it doesn’t matter,” he said. “Your Papa took you out of there, and now I’m your teacher, and I’m not going to do anything like that, I promise.”

Kobik looked up at him, her eyes were wide and blue and somehow _knowing_. “I believe in you,” she said.

Tony’s chest flooded with warmth, and he was struck by a desire to scoop her up and hold her, protect her from whatever had hurt her before. “Thank you,” he said, squeezing her hand a little. “I’ll try to be worthy of your trust.”

Kobik squeezed Tony’s fingers and then said, “Race you--” and took off running. Whatever the Academy may have had to say about her physical traits being average, she was faster, more graceful, than most children Tony had ever seen before. 

Tony shook off his lingering sense of horror to give chase, laughing. These children would have a normal childhood, as much as he could help it.


	3. Chapter 3

Over the next week or so, the household settled into some sort of routine. It was a complicated one, and often depended on how RJ felt in the mornings. On at least three occasions, the boy vanished completely for half the day, and Tony hadn’t been able to find him at all, but he’d always returned by dinner.

Kobik, on the other hand, clung tight to Tony’s side most of the time. She did have one particularly bad day, in which she refused to get out of bed.

“She’s having one of her fits,” the housekeeper said disdainfully. “Let her shriek it out, she’ll be fine.”

Tony hadn’t dealt with many children in his life, but his memory of _being_ a child was sharp and crystal, and he didn’t think he’d _ever_ actually wanted to be left alone, even if that was what he’d said. What he’d wanted was proof that his caretakers actually cared enough to endure his fretfulness. Proof that they would always be there for him.

He selected a book from the schoolroom shelf and flipped through until he found a story, and then went into Kobik’s room. “I thought you might like to hear about the man who invented the first telescope to look at the stars.”

Kobik was hiding under the blankets, a tiny little shivering lump, with every bit of the blanket that could be tucked under her pulled in. She didn’t scream at him to go away, though, which was somewhat encouraging. It was difficult to gauge interest on a lump of blankets, but that was all right, too.

Tony settled into a chair near the lamp and began to read to her about the life of Galileo, and his many inventions and discoveries. He wasn’t really paying attention, much, just reading by rote as he watched the little lump of child in the bed, and listened for the loud _klong_ of the hall clock.

He read for almost an hour before Kobik finally poked her head out to ask a question. “Why did they arrest him for telling the truth?”

Tony suppressed a smile. “Because people don’t much care for truths that contradict what they think they know. Especially people in power, who might lose that power if the truth was found out.”

“That’s not fair,” Kobik pointed out. “True things don’t change, just-- just because people say you’re lying.”

“That makes you much wiser than many adults,” Tony told her. He reached over to pet her hair a little. “You want to tell me how you’re feeling?”

“Something bad,” Kobik said, squinching her entire blanketed self over to Tony to lean against him. “Something bad happened.”

Tony put his arm around her. “Yes, bad things happen sometimes. Was it a dream, or something real? Do you know? Sometimes I can’t tell right away.”

“I was asleepin’,” she said. “And… and… and I saw Papa and he told me, _Hide Kobik.”_ She took a deep, quavering breath. “He’s not coming home. Not yet.”

“That sounds scary. Do you miss your Papa?” Tony kept petting her hair.

“Sometimes,” Kobik said. “He has to go away a lot. It’s important. But someday, he’ll be all done, and then he’ll stay. He said so.”

“You looking forward to that? Is your Papa nice to you?”

"Nice," she agreed. "Papa is nice. Sometimes he's scary. Papa is the soldier, even though he doesn't have to fight anymore. He's very big. And sometimes he yells. His arm hurts him and it makes him yell."

“I hope he doesn’t yell at you,” Tony said. “At least, not unless you’ve done something naughty.” He smiled and ruffled her hair. “I’m sure he’ll come home as soon as he can.”

Kobik heaved a sigh. "Well. _You're_ here, so I guess that's something." 

It wasn't a stellar recommendation, but it would have to do. When they did, however, make an appearance for lunch, Tony was in for a bit of a surprise. 

"You missed the post at breakfast," the housekeeper told him. "There's been a letter for you."

Tony blinked in surprise. “Really? I mean -- Not that I doubt you, I’m just stunned anyone would go to the trouble.” He picked up the envelope by his plate and turned it over, curious.

_Dear sir,_

_I had the good fortune to hear from my factor a more complete story of your accomplishments pending the investigation preceding your employment. Forgive the intrusion into your privacy but by now you must surely realize what an extraordinary charge you have taken on._

_It is for their safety that I had your history recorded and reported._

_Among other interesting tidings, it was discovered that you are an inventor and craftsman of no small talent._

_I have been unfortunately delayed or I would have spoken with you directly. As it is, it will be some weeks before I am once again on my native soil._

_Included with this express, you will find a case of schematics. If your other work permits, I would find it most useful if you could craft -- very exactly -- the hinge join on the third page to the size and in the materials specified therein._

_I will explain the matter more fully on my arrival._

_With regards,_

_The Honorable James B. Barnes_

Tony read through it, and then read it again. He looked up to find the mentioned case also on the table, and pulled it toward him. He unlatched it and shuffled out the third page. The schematic was neatly drawn and very precise, though the hinge mechanism was unusual, like nothing Tony had ever seen before. “I can do this,” he murmured, and glanced up to find Kobik watching him avidly. “It’s from your Papa,” he told her. “He says he will be some weeks returning, but he’s given us a project to complete in the meantime. Maybe you and your brother would like to help.”

Kobik stuffed most of a piece of roasted chicken into her mouth. “Told you,” she said. “He’s _late_.” She seemed calmer, however, and not inclined to jump back into bed immediately upon being validated.

“So you did.” Tony set the case and the letter aside to attend his own lunch. “But hopefully will be back within the month.”

“What are we project-ing? I can help.”

Tony nodded toward the case. “It looks like a hinge, of sorts. He said he’d explain it when he gets home. I can see I’ll have to have a word with Mr. Castle and Ms. Elektra to set up some workspace and order parts.”

“You can mark us for it,” she suggested. “On our helpfillingness.”

“Helpfulness,” Tony corrected. “Yes, I might do that, once I sort out what kind of tasks you’re each capable of.”

Kobik clapped a little from her seat, and then ate even faster, as if that was going to help any, talking quite rapidly with her mouth full of chicken and dinner rolls.

Once they’d finished eating, Tony let her follow him around as he went in search of Frank to request some space to work. And tools. And materials.

The Boyar, apparently, already had a rather impressive workshop set up, complete with forge, bench, and anvil, a crucible on a swinging pivot, and a wide assortment of ingots, wire, and tools, all tucked in one of the outbuildings to reduce smell in the castle, and to guard against the risk of fire.

Tony tried not to be too cheerfully gleeful about everything as he inspected the workshop, taking inventory and noting the things he’d need to order and the things that he could improve and the things that were already high quality -- more than he expected, in truth.

“Does your Papa build things here?” he asked Kobik.

“He brunged a lady here once, she fixed some things for him,” Kobik reported. “But he doesn’t fix anything. Just us.”

Tony hummed. He supposed it would make sense, in a building this size, to just have whatever materials on hand you might need. “Well. The first thing we need to do is start the forge fire. It will take a long time to get hot enough to shape metal the way we need to shape it. You can help me carry wood.”

Kobik agreed cheerfully. She was a little less enthused when she discovered it was going to take several trips, since she couldn’t carry very much wood at a time, but she continued to carry the wood in, two or three pieces at a time, until she’d gotten the bin filled halfway. “Why stack it outside,” she complained, “when we need it _here_?”

“Well, outside is where it grows,” Tony pointed out. “Someone has to carry it in at _some_ point.” He pulled her over by the forge to give her a short break and show her how to prepare a fire, arranging the thinner pieces just so, and piling the thicker logs around them, explaining about the fire needing air to live, just like people.

“Does it drown, then, when people put water on it?” she wondered.

“Yes, actually,” Tony said. “Very good!” He lit the tinder and carefully placed it at the center of his structure, blowing gently until it began to spread.

It wasn’t until RJ came to find them that Tony realized he’d forgotten all about _lessons_ for the day. RJ just laughed. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t giving a test somewhere else. And here you are-- what are we making?” He peered at the schematics. “Interesting alloy mix, what’s he think you are, an alchemist?”

RJ hummed thoughtfully and started pulling down ingots and the solvents to go with them.

Tony looked over the selection, impressed. “Wilderness survival _and_ metalsmithing? You’re a surprising collection of talents.” He pulled out a smelting tray and a set of scales and began to weigh the ingots.

“Not so surprising,” RJ said. “When you consider what we’re meant for.” 

Tony cocked his head. “And what is it that you’re meant for?”

“Maybe I’ll tell you about it,” RJ said, placing several files in different gradients out on the workbench. “If you can track me.”

“That seems unlikely,” Tony pointed out. “Maybe I’ll just ask your sister. She seems to have a pretty good handle on it.”

“He’s ‘posed to be like Papa,” Kobik chirped. “A soldier.”

“Close enough,” RJ sniffed. “You’re going to make a terrible spy, Kobi. Can’t keep your trap shut about anything.”

“She’s four,” Tony pointed out. “Four-year-olds chatter. And why would she want to be a spy?”

“Because that’s what we’re for,” RJ ground out. 

“Not,” Tony said firmly, “if you don’t want to be. Kobik said that place was... Well. You’re not there any more. You don’t have to do what they want you to do.”

"Sunshine and rainbows," RJ said, mocking. "Forgive me if I remain unconvinced." He tossed the handful of tools into the workbench and stormed out.

Tony sighed. Well, he really couldn’t expect RJ to be convinced in just a few words. The boy was too old, had lived through too much, to believe so easily. He collected the tools and straightened them again, and then turned to check the fire. Maybe he’d get a more complete story from the Boyar.

"He's gonna make you find him," Kobik predicted. She had pulled Tony's papers to her and was scribbling on a slate. "This math is wrong."

“I’ll give him some time to cool down first,” Tony said. “Show me the math.” He leaned over to check her figures, comparing them to the ones on the schematic. “Hm, yeah, a little off, there. Good catch.”

* * *

There was something absolutely satisfying about working with his muscles. Actually lifting a hammer and shaping metal.

It was, however, exhausting. The moreso since he hadn’t done any smithing in weeks -- maybe months. By the time he got the first pieces shaped and set aside to cool, Kobik had long since wandered off to dinner and bed, and the moon had risen over the hills Tony could see from the window.

He put his things away and made his way back to his rooms, arms and back aching. He debated a bath, but didn’t want to wait for the water to heat, so he wiped down with a cloth and the water from the ewer, and promised himself a hot bath first thing in the morning.

He changed into his night clothes and went to draw the curtains, pausing for a moment to look down at the courtyard, eerie and beautiful in the moonlight, a silvery sheen lending even the most mundane objects a mystical air.

There was a light in the tower again.

He’d been in the castle -- it didn’t seem to have a name, or at least one that someone had told him, just _the castle_ like it was the only one -- long enough to know the routines and ways. He was not, perhaps, as familiar with the hallways and rooms as his two charges, but he was learning.

And one thing he had learned; the Tower was unoccupied and supposedly uninhabitable. The stairs had fallen in the Boyar’s father’s father’s time and had been deemed too costly to bother to replace. That side of the hall and the door to the Tower had been sealed off.

And yet, there was a light.

Tony watched it for a long minute, but it didn’t change. Curious, he pulled his robe on and made his way out into the courtyard, hoping to catch it from another angle, to get a glimpse into the window and see what was up there.

The light, whatever it was, was steady enough, not flickering like fire or a candle, and the wrong color for a gas lantern, even if one would have been up there. And it wasn’t, as far as Tony could tell, a reflection off some stray glass. He squinted up at it several times, but it was too far away to make out any details.

Heavy footsteps thudded across the courtyard. “What are you doing out, tutor?” Frank wasn’t quite glaring suspiciously, but only because he was too far away for Tony to see his expression.

“Trying to figure out what’s making the light up there,” Tony said, gesturing idly toward the tower.

“What light?” Frank peered up at the Tower, then shrugged.

Tony turned around to point, but-- There was no light.

He blinked up at it. “What the-- There was a light!”

“S’no light up there,” Frank said, firmly. “Maybe you saw a stray bit of lightning. Or -- or a bat. There’s lots of bats around here.”

“Why would a bat--” Tony broke off, shaking his head. It hadn’t been lightning. Or a _bat_ (that didn’t even make sense). But he obviously was not going to get any answers out of Frank. “Maybe I’m more tired than I thought,” he said, because the last thing he needed was for rumors to start that he was going mad. “I’ll just...” He gave the tower one last look, and then went back inside.

He was most of the way to his room, thin taper lighting the way, when there was a loud bang, a cold wind, and he was suddenly left in darkness. It was cold; colder than it had been in the courtyard. If he could have seen his breath, it felt as if it would be steaming.

There was no light, not under any of the doorways, and the curtains had been drawn in the halls. Black as the inside of Tony’s boot.

Something brushed past him in the darkness, the heavy drag of fabric over his hand, soundless, invisible in the darkness.

“Who’s there?” Tony asked, groping blindly for the wall, trying to ignore the heavy thudding of his pulse. “RJ, if this is your idea of a joke, I am not amused.”

“ _Nor should you be_ ,” a voice said, disembodied, nowhere that Tony expected it; it came from nearer the ceiling than it should, and there was a strange, buzzing sound, like a hundred bees. Or one very large one.

A woman’s voice, soft and ragged, as if she’d been wailing, or screaming herself hoarse.

“Who is that?” Tony demanded, staggering back until he bumped into the wall, like ice through the thin fabric of his robe. “Who’s there?”

“No one,” the voice said, and then another wind, tugging at Tony’s robe, sifting chills through his hair. And the voice was on the other side of him now. “Haven’t you heard? Nobody. No one.” The buzzing grew louder, then fainter, and the voice was even further away. “No one’s here at all.”

Heart pounding so hard he thought he would be sick, Tony groped his way along the wall. His hand encountered cloth and for a moment he thought he’d found the -- whatever it was -- but it was only a curtain. He bunched his hand into a fist and yanked until the whole curtain pulled free, the rods pulling free of their bracing with a metallic scrape.

Moonlight flooded the hall and Tony looked around to see--

A swirl of white fabric, a gown hanging from the shoulders of a woman Tony had never seen before, pale and dark-eyed and _hovering in the air on wings like an insect’s_. “God preserve me,” he gasped, lurching back away from the apparition.

“You think He hears you?” the woman shrieked at him, flew toward him, hands upraised as if to strike, wings sizzling in the air, moving so fast Tony could barely see them at all.

Tony ducked, all but falling to the floor and covering his head with his arms protectively.

Another buzz, and then--

The corridor was empty of woman, wings, everything. Just Tony, cowering on the floor near the fallen curtain.

Tony looked around wildly, but there was nothing there. The moonlight was bright enough to light the entire hall. Empty. Tony looked out the window, but there was nothing out of the ordinary.

He scrubbed a hand through his hair and then pressed it to his chest, trying to calm his still-racing heart. “Did I just... Did I see that?” he wondered. “That can’t... _can’t_ have been real. Maybe I _am_ more tired than I thought.’

Nothing answered him.

Nobody was there.

* * *

RJ had taken on the role of messenger for the day, heading into the local village, some ten miles down the road, to deliver orders for materials and food. In a day or so, Frank Castle would take the wagon down and pick up those deliveries.

It would have been an unusual show of maturity for the boy, except Tony rather suspected he’d volunteered in order to get out of lessons that morning; history. His least favorite, even with Tony’s efforts.

“Facts and dates of what rich old people did ain’t history. That’s just bloody interference is what that is,” RJ had said on more than one occasion.

Still, at least having him gone for the day meant that Tony could focus on the lesson without having to referee the endless bickering between RJ and Kobik. Given her advanced reading level, Tony had offered her passages from two books on the same event, and challenged her to find differences between them and figure out why there were differences in descriptions of so-called black and white facts. Thinking critically about what she read was a skill far more important than actually memorizing the facts themselves, Tony felt.

Kobik scrawled notes in her childish handwriting, still about on par with the motor control most four year olds had. While she knew longer words and how to construct her thoughts into sentences, she still wrote her Rs backward sometimes, and had an unsteady, shaky hand. She had her tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth while she worked, and looked up to ask a question when there was a booming clatter against the front gate. 

“Someone’s here,” she said, abandoning her work to scramble for the draperies on the far side of the classroom, trying to see what was going on in the front of the castle. They didn’t have a very good view from that vantage point, only that there was a coach in a dark color, and a pair of matching bays drawing it.

Tony couldn’t see if there was a crest on the coach or if it was hired. He shook himself out of his curiosity -- It wasn’t as if anyone would have come to see _him_ , and if it were the boyar, surely Kobik would have recognized the vehicle or the horses. “Back to your lesson,” he suggested. “If it’s something we need to know about, then Frank knows where to find us.”

“But nobody _ever_ comes,” Kobik said. “I want to see someone new for once.” She stretched, all but climbing out the window to look.

“That’s not entirely true,” Tony said. “I came, after all. Come sit in your seat. Whoever it is, they’ll likely still be here in an hour.” The horses would need to be watered, if nothing else.

“You only came because Papa paid you,” Kobik said, sullenly, flopping back down in her seat. “No one ever _wants_ to see us.”

“I’m sure that will change when you’re a bit older,” Tony suggested. “Show me what you’ve got so far.” He slid into the seat next to hers and leaned to read over her notes.

She was just starting to get back into the exercise when Frank appeared at the door, followed by an official-looking man. “Stark,” Frank said. “Magistrate’s man, wants to see you.”

For an instant, Tony froze, wondering what he could possibly have done-- But he hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary since coming here. He stood up, brushing a hand over Kobik’s hair quickly. “And here I am. What may I do for you, sir?”

“You are guardian to Richard James Barnes?” the Magistrate’s man asked, pulling out an official-looking fold of paper and extending it.

“RJ,” Kobik said, a soft, terrified whisper. She was, Tony discovered, hiding behind him, her hands tight on his trouser leg.

Tony’s eyebrows shot up. “I am his tutor and his caretaker, after a fashion,” Tony said. “His guardian -- the boyar -- is from home at the moment.”

The magistrate appeared to consider that information for some moments, then nodded. “All right,” he said. “We can release him into your custody, for a fine of one hundred lei, and your signature that he will appear for trial when the judge makes his way here again.”

“Trial? For what?” Tony was starkly aware of the way Kobik was clinging more tightly to his leg, trembling. He was also aware that one hundred lei was nearly all the cash he had. He hoped the boyar would see fit to repay it, but in the meantime, it left Tony without anything. “What did the boy do?”

“Assaulted the parrish vicar,” the magistrate’s man said. “And when the good Father’s men attempted to stop him, he fought them, as well. Three men injured, we have, in town, because of his ruffian ways.”

Tony considered, briefly, telling the magistrate to take RJ back to the town jail to await his trial. But that would serve no purpose but to make the boy even more sullen, more certain that Tony was his enemy. He sighed. “Give me a moment to fetch the money, and then I’ll come with you.”

He excused himself to his rooms and indulged in a brief, silent bout of temper before retrieving his wallet and returning to the schoolroom. “I’ll have a receipt, if you please,” he said as he counted out the cash.

The man scribbled out a mostly illegible note, but the number was written out clear enough, and signed. “Boy’s in the back of the wagon,” he said. “It’s a ways up the hill an’ I didn’t want to make the trip twice. He’s a ward of the Boyar, so I don’t want to hear any complaints, neither. Boy picked through two sets of my best cuffs before-- well, you’ll see.”

Kobik squeaked. “What did they do to him?”

“Come along,” Tony said, knowing that if he told her to stay behind, she’d only sneak out after him. He took her hand. “I’m sure he’s fine.” He gestured for the magistrate’s man to lead the way.

RJ was, in fact, mostly fine. He was locked in the back of a secured wagon with not one, but two men guarding him, a hood over his face, and his arms shackled behind him.

“The judge will send express, when he’s to come in for a hearing,” the man told them. “Missing the trial is admission of guilt and will be punished accordingly.” He took a deep breath, as if for effect. “Punishment for assault on a holy man’s a fine of a thousand lei, and up to a year in the workhouse prison.”

“I’ll be sure to let the boyar know when he returns,” Tony said. “I’ll take him now.”

The two guards threw RJ out of the wagon without much ceremony or gentleness, and he pitched into the dust at Tony’s feet before the magistrate’s man yanked his wrists up to uncuff him.

The hood came off last, to show RJ with a swollen lip, black eye, and a mark on his neck that looked as if someone might have tried to throttle him.

And still, the magistrate’s men all took a step backward, as if expecting him to attack immediately, the guard’s hands going to their billy clubs.

Tony reached down, taking hold of RJ’s arm to help him stand and not releasing it. “Thank you, gentlemen,” he dismissed the magistrate’s men.

They got in the wagon and drove away. They were nearly out of the gate before RJ shook Tony’s hand off, and Kobik squeaked. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I wished-- I wanted to see new people, I didn’t-- I didn’t mean it--”

“You’re fine,” Tony told her. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” He turned to RJ. “You, however... Well. Will you tell me your side of the story? Did you have a good reason for attacking the vicar?”

RJ crossed his arms over his chest, slowly, obviously trying to pretend it didn’t hurt. He glared indiscriminately in the space between Kobik and Tony. “There’s no sides,” he muttered. “Judge don’t care about _why_. Did I strike that man? Yes, by God, I did, and I’d do’t again.”

“The judge may not, but I certainly do, and so may the boyar. If you want me to speak on your behalf, then you’ll have to convince me it was provoked.” Tony folded his own arms, waiting.

“I had a need t’ speak with someone, and he got in the way,” RJ said.

“Got in the way,” Tony repeated. “More detail, please. He simply stepped into your path on accident? He purposely blocked you?”

“Tried to run me off,” RJ said, scowling. “I’ve every right, just as much as any man in the village.”

Frank, who had walked by again, snorted. “Boy was trying to buy a whore,” he reported. 

Tony was not as scandalized as Frank probably hoped he would be. “I have trouble believing anyone could simply run you off from something you had set your mind to,” he told RJ, taking his frustration in hand. “I’m trying to _help_ you, here, but if you keep giving me these half-answers, I’m not going to be able to.”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” RJ burst. “I’m not-- I’m not a _project_ for you, or for the Boyar to decide how I should live.”

“Do you _want_ to spend a year in the workhouse?” Tony demanded. It was getting much harder to keep his irritation pushed aside.

“Like an’ see them try to make me,” RJ said, smugly. “There’s no cell I can’t get out of sooner or later.”

“Yet another crime does not make the first one magically disappear!” Tony snapped.

“Don’t worry,” RJ said. “I’ll take a leaf out of your book, and just run away.” That was accompanied by a vicious smirk. “Or did you think we wouldn’t find out about that?”

Tony’s blood ran cold, and then hot. “That’s not the same thing at all,” he growled. “You beat _three men_ over what? A skirt you wanted to chase? That’s not how a man acts, not any man worthy of the name. You just--” Anger and shame and frustration warred inside him, closing up his throat. “I’m going to take a walk,” he grated, “before I say something I will regret.” He turned on his heel and stalked off down the hill, curving toward the forest.

RJ’s mocking laughter followed him a moment, and then he yelped as his sister kicked his shin. “RJ, you idiot!”

For an instant, Tony wanted to turn back and tell the boy exactly how stupid he was being -- but he clenched his hands into fists and kept walking. The woods near the castle were thick and dark and deep, and promised cool shade and soothing quiet for Tony’s overwrought nerves. He ducked through a bramble and plunged in amongst the trees, hardly paying heed to where he was going.

It was as if RJ _wanted_ to be punished, somehow. It seemed like every single thing he did was calculated to jab, to hurt, to provoke. It made Tony _furious_.

At RJ, certainly, but also at himself, for not having more patience.

The boy was a whipped cur who snapped at even the gentlest of touches, unable to trust anything. Tony owed him more kindness than that, even if he couldn’t accept it yet. He was trying to find Tony’s breaking point, clearly, and Tony was determined not to give in to it.

When his anger with RJ ran out -- and some side anger for Castle and the rest of the staff who seemed to find the children to be trials and burdens rather than human beings -- he found he had rather a hefty dose of it left over for himself. Mingled with shame at the situation which had gotten him disgraced and disowned. Wondering what, exactly, RJ might know. The full situation had not been -- as far as Tony knew -- disclosed to the press. Howard would never have allowed it. But there was enough--

Tony paused, looking around.

The castle was no longer visible, back the way he’d come. In fact, the ground had begun to slope upward again.

Perhaps he should turn around and head back, before he became lost.

Tony scrubbed his hands through his hair and over his face, and turned back the way he’d come.

Half an hour later, he still couldn’t see the castle in the few glimpses he got through the trees. Surely, he hadn’t come so far in his anger? He paused, one hand on a smooth tree trunk, and looked around. It was so dark under the canopy, it was hard to tell north from south.

So, of course, it started to rain, blotting out most of the remaining light and making it hard to see much further than a few feet in front of him.

Damn it.

Well, what else could he do but keep pushing forward? He had to find the boundary sooner or later, or a path through, or _something_. He took another step, and another, dragging himself from one tree to the next, squinting up at the sky in a vain hope that the rain might let up or the slivers of sky show some small hint of the castle.

Tony didn’t know how long he walked like that, arms clutched around his chest in a feeble effort to keep warm, clothes soaking wet and stuck to him, pants thick with mud and making it harder to walk. He tripped, fell into a small hollow of leaves and mud. He considered, briefly, the idea of just not moving again. He was exhausted, emotionally, physically.

But he couldn’t just lay there. It wasn’t really in him to give up. With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself up--

And saw a flicker of light, like a fire or a lantern, not all that terribly far away.


	4. Chapter 4

Thank God. He’d found a cottage or a woodsman’s shack or someone who could help him, at least. He hoped. He stumbled toward it, shivering. “Hello?” he called. It seemed to be getting closer. “Hello, can you help me?”

The building was small, but seemed well put together. To one side, a lean-to made from canvas sheltered a huge horse that stuck its nose out into the weather to whicker at Tony and inspect him to see if he had any apples. 

The door creaked open an inch or so. “What do you want?” For a moment, bright blue eyes inspected him, and Tony felt certain he was about to fail muster and the door was going to get slammed in his face, before the man opened the door all the way. “God’s blood, man, you’re soaked clear through, what-- come in.”

The man was tall -- maybe not as tall as Frank Castle, but broad in the chest, although he seemed a bit lopsided at first. It took Tony a moment, cold and exhausted as he was, to realize the man had only one arm, and he was using it to hold the door.

“Oh, thank God,” Tony breathed. He stepped through the door and let out a sigh of relief as the heat of the man’s fire reached his long-numbed fingers. “Thank you,” he told the man. “I’m-- I got lost, it seems.” This little shack definitely hadn’t been anything he’d passed on his way inward.

“That’s for certain,” the man said, closing the door and locking it behind him. “This is no place you’d be on purpose, night like this. Bucky’s my name. You can stay the night, if you wish. I’ll put you out to the road tomorrow.”

Tony looked down at his mud-soaked clothes. “I don’t want to be a bother,” he hedged.

“Then don’t be,” Bucky said. “If you go back outside tonight, I expect I’ll be digging a grave, and that’d be a worse sort of trouble, don’t you think?” He shook back his hair, combing through it one handed. He had an almost luminous beauty, good cheekbones, full mouth. “Go on an’ strip, I’ll see if I can find something that’ll fit you while your clothes dry.”

“Much obliged,” Tony said, and edged a little closer to the fire as he began to peel out of his soaked and filthy clothes. “I’m Tony.”

“Nice to meet you, Tony,” Bucky said. The cabin was small, a single fireplace and a few chairs pulled up near it, a table and stools to one side. Shelves. An assortment of taxidermy animal heads stared at him from their mounted places of honor. Across the room, on the other side of the door, a bed lined thick with furs, a chest, and a wooden tub flipped toward the wall. “There’s not much here, but you’re welcome to share it.” He rooted around in the trunk for a while and came up with a blousy white shirt that was missing the left sleeve, and a pair of breeches with a patched knee. “They’ll like to be a bit big on you. I don’t have any of Steve’s old things anymore, so--” he trailed off absently, the clothing clenched in his hand. “Nor will it do you much good, filthy as you are.”

He dropped the clothes on one of the chairs and started rolling the wooden tub out toward the fireplace.

“Oh, there’s no need, I can--” But Bucky was already setting the tub into place. And it would, actually, be unspeakably rude of Tony to get all the mud and bits of leaves and twigs all over Bucky’s cabin -- more than he had already, anyway. “I can help?” Tony offered instead. “Where do you pull your water?”

“Rain barrels in the back,” Bucky said. “The creek’s a bit-- well, looks as though you might have fallen in it, so I don’t need to tell you where it is. As it is, I only have the one bucket--” He waggled his stump at Tony as if in explanation. “Stay by the fire, won’t take but a shake.”

Tony tried to protest again, but Bucky was out the door before he could get more than a word out. Well. At least Tony had stumbled into a good-hearted, generous person. He shuffled even closer to the fire and finished dragging off his clothes. Some of them gave him quite a struggle, the wet fabric sticking to his skin and to itself, binding when he tried to pull it loose.

The shirt and trousers could probably be salvaged, but he rather thought his coat might never be the same again. And he’d given up all but a small handful of lei to the magistrate for RJ, so it would be some time before he could manage another. Grimacing, he hung it carefully on the hook by the fireplace, hoping against hope that once it had been dried and brushed, it might be somewhat wearable.

Bucky was in and out of the small cabin several times as he filled the tub about mid-way with rainwater, and added one kettle from the fire of boiling water, and put another on to heat. The wind blew in a few times, swirling the heat away and making Tony shiver as he struggled with the knot on his smallclothes which seemed to have become the equivalent of the Gordion, tricky and nearly impossible to undo with shaking fingers.

“Sorry, I’m sorry to ask, but I can’t-- My fingers are too numb; could you...?” Tony waved at the knot.

The man stared for a moment, face pale except for flaming cheeks, and he looked almost pole-axed, then shook it off. “Yeah, just, hang on a mite.” He poured the last bucket in, took several deep breaths, and fetched a small tool from the table. “Knots are a bit of a bane for me, too.” He held up a little metal tool, narrow on one side, hooked on the other. “Just need to get it in there, hold the tapes fast for me.”

“Sorry,” Tony apologized again. “I wouldn’t ask, but I just can’t seem to get a grip on them, and the damned thing just keeps getting tighter.”

“Not a problem,” he said, voice gruff with-- something. “Truth, it’s nice to be _asked_ for help, for a change.” He grumbled, then slid the tool in through the knot and wrenched at it, pulling Tony’s shorts to one side, and then the other before the tape loosened up enough for the knot to give way, and then his drawers were all but sliding off right under the man’s nose.

Tony caught them before they could fall off entirely -- that Bucky would see him naked was embarrassing enough, but necessary. There was no need to discomfort the man by giving such a close view. “Thank you.” Tony waited until Bucky had turned away to put his tool back, and then dropped the drawers, hanging them by the fire as well before stepping into the small tub.

“Oh, that’s _perfect_ ,” he sighed. The heat flooded his limbs, chasing away the last of the shivering and numbness. Tony closed his eyes, submerging as much of himself as the little tub would allow, and let himself soak for several long minutes.

Long, almost comfortable silence passed, and then Tony was nudged in the shoulder. Glancing up, he saw Bucky, facing away from him, neck flaming red, and in his hand was a small ball of yellow soap that smelled… familiar.

“Oh, right. Thanks.” Tony took the soap and took another sniff. It definitely smelled like the soap in the bathing room at the castle. Probably bought it from the same soapmaker down in the village. Hopefully that meant Tony hadn’t gotten _too_ far off track, if Bucky was getting his soap from the same village.

He scrubbed off the lingering muck as quickly as he could. The tub wasn’t big enough for him to dunk his head under the water, but he poured a couple of handfuls on it to rinse it out a little, at least. It wasn’t long before the water was too dirty to actually be effective at cleaning him, anyway. He stood up, keeping his back to Bucky since the man seemed to be particularly modest, and reached for the pair of breeches that had been thrown over the chair for him.

They were more slender through the waist than Tony expected, but still a bit big on him. As soon as Tony let go of them, they dropped to hang precariously on his hips. One good tug would have them off again -- but then, who was going to tug on his pants leg, here? It would have to suffice. “There,” he said, wriggling into the shirt. “That’s so much better. My thanks, again; you may have saved my life.”

"It's a terrible habit," Bucky said. "I try to restrain myself from aiding every stray dog and orphaned kitten I come across. You may well be the first grown man I've come to assist." He seemed to find that humorous, at least.

Tony let out a huff of a laugh. “My woodcraft skills are sorely lacking,” he agreed. “As has been pointed out to me recently. I promise, in my element, I’m actually fairly competent.”

"Well enough," Bucky said. "For the moment, if you'd not mind catching the end of this, we'll dump her out and then I'll see to a bit of supper."

Bucky lifted the little tub by a leather strap on one side, but Tony could easily see that without help, he'd have to empty it the same way he filled it up, one bucket at a time.

He willingly caught up the other side of the tub and let Bucky lead as they carried to the door and dumped it out. “You might have just kept it to plant in, come spring,” Tony joked as they maneuvered it back inside.

“Perhaps,” Bucky said, “and then take all my baths in the cold water creek, nothing between me and the sky.”

“I’m sure it would be character building,” Tony said, and tried not to imagine Bucky with nothing between him and the sky, standing strong and proud in the sun--

_Not_ thinking about it. Right.

“How long have you been out here?” he asked, searching for some neutral topic of conversation.

“Not terribly long,” Bucky said. “Two days earlier, and I’d not have seen you. Of course, two days ago, it wasn’t raining buckets, either. Stopped in long enough to see Halfway safe and warm and comfortable. I’ll be moving on in a day or so, depending on circumstances.”

“What’s Halfway?” Tony wondered. So if Bucky wasn’t a resident woodsman, as Tony had assumed, maybe he was a trader of some sort? But why would a trader stop here in this cabin, away from other people, when the castle was only a few miles away?

“You’re in it,” Bucky said, gesturing at the cabin. “Halfway. It’s more like Almost There, but that doesn’t sound as funny when I say it.”

Tony chuckled at that. “All right. Well, I’m glad you were here, at any rate. I don’t know if I’d have ever found my way back out of the woods on my own.”

“Well, that would be a tragedy,” Bucky said. “You don’t have folk that would come looking for you?”

“Mm, maybe. Though the one that would be most likely to _find_ me, we had a bit of a spat earlier, so it might be a day or so before he’s inclined to be at all charitable toward me.”

“Perhaps you’ll find in the morning, they’ve been looking for you the whole time,” Bucky said. He took a side of bacon from the wooden box near the table, cut it up, added a good deal of sliced onion, and some potatoes, put the whole mess in an iron skillet and sat it at the fire. “Not much of a meal, but it’ll do well enough.”

“More than I was expecting,” Tony said. “You’ve been very generous with me.”

“You’re more than welcome,” Bucky said. “Halfway’s a good place for generosity.”

“It seems more like it should be a place for compromise,” Tony said. “If you’re meeting someone here.” He grinned at his own joke, weak though it was.

Bucky looked up, eyes glittering in the firelight. “Perhaps, if I was meeting someone here for an assignation, compromise would be the word of the day. Still, I prefer to be _generous_ , there, as well.”

Tony felt that shiver down through his chest and stomach. Was Bucky _flirting?_ Or just joking around? He couldn’t tell. “That’s a good time for generosity,” he agreed. “Ideally, from all parties.” He nodded at the pan by the fire. “It’s going to burn,” he warned.

Bucky yelped, distracted back to the task at hand, and stirred dinner, rescuing it from the hottest part of the fire and backing it out a little to flip all the vegetables and tubers. “My thanks,” Bucky said. “Might have been a long night, with naught else to do but listen to our stomachs rumble if I ruined the meal.”

“Oh, I’m sure we’d have found some way to pass the time.” Tony hadn’t really meant that to sound flirtatious. Had he? Maybe a little, just out of curiosity. Bucky was a beautiful man; Tony couldn’t help but enjoy the view, after so long with only the castle staff for adult company.

Bucky stopped, mid-stir, and glanced up at him again. “Is that so,” he murmured, then flipped all the food one last time, and dished it into two simple tin bowls. “Careful, it’s hot.”

Tony took the bowl gingerly and balanced it on his knees. “What do you usually do to entertain yourself up here?” he wondered, backing down a little. The last thing he wanted was to offend the man and find himself put back out in the rain.

“I make plans,” Bucky said. “If I’m in the right mood. Or the wrong one, you might say.” He looked strangely distant, gazing off into nothingness, the bowl of food forgotten where he’d braced it between the stump of his arm and his chest, holding it to eat. “And sometimes, I’m just here to hold on.”

“Hold on to what?” Tony wondered. He took a few bites of his supper -- simple fare, but his hunger-panged stomach was in raptures.

“Hope,” Bucky said. “Sanity. Humanity. Whatever you want to call it.”

“Just need to get away from everything for a while,” Tony summarized, nodding. “This seems like a good place for it.”

“Halfway, at least,” Bucky said, and he gave Tony a grin, before turning back to his food, finding something, perhaps, very absorbing in bacon and potato. 

Tony chuckled. He managed a few more bites, and then couldn’t resist asking, “Do you find yourself here often?”

“At this very moment, I can’t imagine finding myself anywhere else.”

Tony hummed. “Perhaps I’ll come back out to visit again, sometime. Preferably with drier clothes and less mud, next time.”

Bucky chuckled. “I’ll be inclined to show you the path, then, as you came the worst, dirtiest route possible. I promise, the place really is more accessible than that. You need not near drown in order to get my attention.”

“But it seems to have been worth it.” Back to the flirting. Tony gave a mental shrug. Bucky didn’t seem too inclined to be upset about it.

“Is it?” Bucky asked, and seemed almost tentative. “You’d be one of the first to say so.”

“I can’t imagine that’s true,” Tony protested. “You’re kind and generous, amusing company...” He hesitated -- but he’d never been shy or tentative when he’d liked someone before. “And quite attractive, if you don’t mind my saying.”

Bucky’s cheeks went pink again, and he let his eyes drop until he was staring into the bottom of his bowl, a few smears of grease all that was left of dinner. “You’re very beautiful, yourself,” Bucky murmured.

Tony flushed warm at that, pleased to be flattered. “Well,” he breathed. “It does seem like we’ll be able to find some way to amuse ourselves.”

Bucky’s bowl fell to the floor with a dim clatter that barely registered, because Bucky was staring at him, eyes wide and dark, mouth slightly open, and as Tony looked, his tongue flicked out to wet his lower lip. “So it seems.” He moved in an oddly graceful three-point crawl, to close the scant inches in between them. “I rather think I might kiss you now.”

“I think I might like that.” Tony brushed his knuckles down Bucky’s face, rough with stubble, and then cupped Bucky’s chin to draw him in. “I might like that a great deal.”

Bucky moved up into it, kneeling up until he was upright, bracketed between Tony’s thighs, his hand coming up to spear into Tony’s hair, and he tipped his head to claim that kiss. His mouth was lush, lips soft, and his tongue clever, sliding into Tony’s mouth to taste him. Tentative at first, but growing fiercer as Tony didn’t push him away, slick and sensual, exploring every bit of Tony’s mouth until he was panting for breath and clinging.

Tony tested the softness of Bucky’s hair as it wrapped around his fingers, the pounding pulse in Bucky’s throat, the firm muscle of Bucky’s shoulders, more than strong enough to hold Tony up despite the way his knees had gone weak with wanting. “Well worth the trouble it took to find my way here,” Tony gasped as they parted.

“Not that I would encourage you to lose your way more often,” Bucky said, nuzzling at Tony’s mouth with increasing urgency, “you never know what sort of ruffian you might find out here.”

“No? And what sort of ruffian are you, sir?”

“The generous sort,” Bucky stated firmly, and with one last lick at Tony’s mouth, he stood and offered his hand. “If you wish it--”

Tony stood as well and put his hand in Bucky’s. “I do.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: smut chapter ahead! This picks up right where Chapter 4 left off, and contains nothing of note, plotwise, so if you are smut-averse, we'll see you next week. ;)

Bucky tugged him over, gently, to the bed. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he murmured, brushing Tony’s still slightly damp hair away from his face. “Lovely.” He kissed one of Tony’s cheeks. “Mysterious.” Lips brushed the other cheek. “Fascinating.” A butterfly kiss, almost breathless, against his mouth. 

Tony laughed a little, leaning forward to catch Bucky’s mouth in another kiss. “Nothing mysterious about a city man getting himself lost in the woods,” he said. “You’re the intriguing one, appearing out of the darkness to rescue me, hm?” He slid his hands down over Bucky’s chest, reveling in the firm muscle underneath.

“I didn’t _appear_ ,” Bucky said, laughing softly. “I was just… here.” His fingers hooked in one side of the waist of Tony’s borrowed pants, tugging Tony even closer.

“And I’m very glad you were.” Tony let his arms wind around Bucky’s neck, let himself be lost in another of those all-consuming kisses.

“Not yet,” Bucky said, and he tumbled them both onto the bed, coming to rest half sprawled across Tony, those breeches sliding down to bare one hip. “But you will be.”

Tony chuckled breathlessly. “I do like the sound of that.” He threaded his fingers through Bucky’s hair again, traced the shell of Bucky’s ear. “I hope you’ll be just as glad.”

“I’ve no doubt I’ll be well pleased,” Bucky said, and he rolled them over until Tony was straddling thighs, thick and muscular, and Bucky’s hips rolled up to meet him. His hand teased at Tony’s hip, the fingers strong, callused from heavy work, but dragging soft caresses along Tony’s skin.

Tony shifted a little, settling his weight and letting him rub against Bucky’s body, feeling the length and hardness through their clothes. He dragged his hands down Bucky’s chest and stomach, teasing at the waist of Bucky’s pants as he pulled the shirt loose and touched the skin underneath, softer and warmer, feeling it jump and twitch under his fingertips. “You’re so lovely,” he murmured, watching the firelight flickering against Bucky’s skin, glittering in those dark eyes.

"Kinda does something for me, watching you in my old clothes," Bucky said, his hips working to rock Tony on top, grinding them together. "Some kind of temptation." He looked as if he might say more, but Tony leaned down to kiss him, and their bodies moved together in new and delightful ways and Bucky groaned instead. 

“Let me tempt you more,” Tony suggested, pushing Bucky’s shirt up enough to mouth over his chest, sucking at the tender hollow of his collarbone and flicking his tongue across a dark, pebbled nipple.

Bucky arched into it, eyes fluttering shut and his head tipped back to expose his throat. His hand tightened on Tony's thigh, grip stronger than Tony night have thought but perhaps it wasn't that surprising; only having the one must be a trial sometimes.

“Oh, sensitive,” Tony purred, and went back, over and over, scraping the flesh with his teeth and soothing with his tongue, until he managed to draw out another moan of need.

"Yeah," Bucky agreed, rough and low. His hand roamed up Tony's thigh, then across the front panel on the breeches, the heel of his hand rubbing briskly over Tony's cock before continuing to the other side. "Are you?"

Tony gasp and his hip stuttered, chasing the sensation. “Fairly,” he agreed, breathless. “God, please...” It had been months since the last time he’d been with anyone else -- weeks since he’d even felt confident enough in his privacy to bring himself off. He was wound tight, a spring just waiting for a trigger.

Reaching for Tony’s cheek, Bucky stroked over his jaw, ran his thumb along Tony’s lip, then caught up the back of the shirt and tugged it, easily, over Tony’s head. “That much I can do for you,” he said, eyes drawn to look over Tony’s arms, shoulders, as if he hadn’t seen them while Tony was bathing. Or perhaps it was different now. Naked, with intent.

Or, half so, at any rate. Bucky teased at the waist of the breeches, then slowly worked one button out of the hole.

Tony knelt up so Bucky could reach better, shivering and gasping with every accidental -- or not so accidental -- brush of Bucky’s fingers over Tony’s cock. “I wouldn’t have guessed you as the sort of man to draw things out,” he said.

Bucky snorted, which moved them together in new and interesting ways. “If you knew my life-- this will have to hold me many a cold, lonely night. I shan’t be be rushing you.”

Tony huffed out a laugh. “Oh, the same for me, I fear.” He slid his hands up Bucky’s chest and then back down, watching the muscles of Bucky’s stomach jump as he traced along the edge of the cloth. “I plan to get my fill, and more.”

Finally, the buttons were unfastened, although really, a good tug would have stripped Tony clear of them. Bucky reached in, and drew Tony out. “Ain’t you a fine, handsome fellow,” Bucky said, as if he was speaking directly to Tony’s cock, running his hand lightly up and down the length, tracing the vein with one finger, then smoothing his thumb over the head.

Tony shuddered, arching into the touch. “Christ,” he murmured. “That feels so fine...” He was half-overwhelmed by just that simple touch, unable to do more than clutch at Bucky’s shoulders for balance.

“Does it, now? That’s good,” Bucky said, and he stroked harder, hand clutched loose around it, fingers curled to give Tony friction. That thumb crested at every peak, smearing precome over Tony’s skin, slick and wet.

Tony groaned, rocking into the touch for several slow slides. He finally had to pull Bucky’s hand away. “Not-- Too close, not yet, I want to see you.” He took a few deep breaths to pull himself back from the brink and then kissed Bucky again, hard and demanding with the strength of the sheer need in him.

“Yeah, all right, then,” Bucky said, although his cheeks darkened a little as he tugged at his own clothes, simple and easy to remove one handed. His chest was strong, muscles clearly outlined. The arm -- where it ended -- was a stump that looked as though it had been ripped off, ragged and a tangle of scars, mostly silver-white with age, but some of them looked fresher, and a series of bruises dotted the skin along his shoulder.

Tony brushed his fingertips along the curve of Bucky’s shoulder, well clear of the bruises, frowning a little. “Should I avoid this? Does it pain you much?”

“Had a bit of a tumble a week or so past,” Bucky said, easily. “There’s not so very much pain, now. But, if someone tells you not to fire a repeater rifle from horseback, I advise that _you_ listen.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Tony agreed, though he wouldn’t mind getting his hands on a repeater rifle; they were fascinating machines. “In the meantime--” He slid downward, wriggling until he was cradled in the vee of Bucky’s thighs, and traced those beautiful muscles with his mouth, testing with tongue and teeth to find the spots that would make Bucky shake and arch and gasp.

Bucky gasped and twisted beautifully under Tony’s hands and mouth, the hard length of him pressing up eagerly to rut and rub at Tony’s chest, his breath harsh and unsteady. “You’re like some fever dream,” Bucky said, gripping at Tony’s hair, not quite pulling, but tugging just enough to make his scalp tingle. “You can’t be real.”

“I can assure you,” Tony said, working his way down Bucky’s stomach, “I’m very real.” He nipped a little, a tiny pinch, and then licked over the spot. He propped himself on his elbows to tug at the buttons of Bucky’s pants, pulling them free with far less ceremony than Bucky had afforded his own.

Bucky was-- impressive. His thighs were thick and muscular, and what lay between them rather thick itself. He made a soft, needy sound as Tony bared him, twisting up, his spine flexible and his stomach muscles rippling.

Tony pulled the pants off entirely and then shucked his own, wanting nothing between them, and then crawled back up to examine Bucky’s cock more closely. “Perfection,” he said, breathing warm air over the delicate skin, and then ducked his head for a taste, a quick flicker of tongue over the head.

Bucky huffed out a breath, barely there, eyes shining in the firelight as he watched. “Oh, _Christ_.”

Humming, Tony settled in to get to work, covering the full length of Bucky’s cock in broad, wet stripes and darting kitten-licks, sucking the head between his lips for a moment, long enough to circle the crown with his tongue before letting go again. Alternating, switching randomly so Bucky would never know what to expect.

Bucky’s foot came around, circling Tony’s leg and pulling him down, rubbing his arch against Tony’s leg, as if desperate for some sort of contact. Skin to skin, each burning touch was too much and not enough. “You’re sweet,” Bucky told him, then groaned again, hefting his hips, and then obviously holding himself down, as if he both didn’t want to make Tony gag, and he absolutely _wanted_ to thrust in.

“And you’re absolutely _delicious_ ,” Tony said. He gave in enough to take Bucky deeper into his mouth, as deep as he could, given how thick it was. Tony hummed in appreciation, knowing the feel of it would only serve to drag Bucky higher.

“Ah-- Ah! Tony--” Bucky cried, then gasped. “If… if you wish your fill of me, best stop now.”

Tony pulled away reluctantly, giving it one last, teasing lick before crawling up Bucky’s body to kiss him thoroughly. “And how do you plan to go on, then?”

Bucky groaned at the taste of Tony’s mouth, licking his way deeper, possessive and heated, before pulling back. “I ain’t--” Bucky said, looking around almost helplessly. “There weren’t supposed to be beautiful men on this visit, I can’t--” He rolled his hips, pushing against Tony’s thigh. “Here, sit up a bit--”

He nudged and pushed until Tony was straddling him, and then wrapped his hand around both their cocks, lining them up. “Yeah, like--” He brought his hand to his mouth, licked his palm, and then did it again, giving Tony a heated, slick fist to push through, at the same time, giving Bucky friction.

“Oh, yeah, yes, that’s--” Tony braced his hands on Bucky’s shoulders and shifted his legs just a bit, enough to give him some more leverage, and thrust hard into that warm grip. “Bucky,” he gasped. “Yes, just like that--”

Bucky watched them, his hand moving easily over their aligned cocks, then up to stare at Tony, and back down, utterly fascinated. “Oh, that’s good, you feel so good,” Bucky said, his body moving urgently, hand stroking faster.

Tony’s breath caught as the urgency grew, making him lose his rhythm, lose track of where he was. Bucky’s hand never faltered, though, a steady, sure stroke as inevitable and inexorable as the sun’s journey across the sky, bearing down with heat that built and built and built until Tony cried out, head falling back as he reached his peak and then tumbled over it. The fire that had been building in his groin rushed outward, flooding his limbs with light and warmth.

He found himself slumped against Bucky’s shoulder, panting for breath.

Bucky stroked them a few more times, then, as Tony’s spend made the way slicker, wetter, he groaned, rolled them both over and thrust himself against Tony’s belly, hips rocking easily, driving Tony down into the mattress, a heavy, lush weight across Tony’s thighs, before he groaned, and spilled over.

“Oh, oh, God,” Bucky moaned, nipping at Tony’s throat as he came.

Tony petted Bucky’s hair and back and sides gently, still more than half-dazed from his own climax. “So good, that was perfect,” he mumbled, half-coherent and foggy with pleasure.

Bucky huffed lightly, still nuzzling at Tony’s neck, touchy and cuddly after coupling. After a while, he rolled over with a pained groan, the fluids between them sticky and going cold. “Least I put on more water,” he said, philosophically. “Now I jus’ need to be able to get the energy to _get up_.” 

“Mm,” Tony agreed, nearly asleep himself. But he knew from long experience that it would be particularly unpleasant if he neglected to perform at least a minimal cleaning. He took a couple of bracing breaths and then pushed himself up on his hands. “I can get it,” he said. Bucky had already been more than generous with him, not merely as a lover but in providing shelter and comfort and food. Tony could manage to cross the small cabin and get them a washbasin and a cloth.

Bucky leaned up on his elbow to watch Tony; his expression more fond than smug and satisfied, the way Tony was used to. “You-- make me want to change my plans.”

Tony paused, pouring heated water into a bowl. “Do I? And what plans are those?”

“Just-- take some time,” Bucky said. “Something just for me, here, with you. Where nothin’ out there matters. Which we both know ain’t the way of things. But it’d be nice. Just you know, lay around, and do nothing but what we want.”

“That does sound wonderful,” Tony admitted. He wet a rag and wiped himself down, then brought it and the bowl back over to the bed. “It would be even better if I had a few books to hand. I never seem to have time to read, anymore.” He sat on the side of the bed with a sigh. “Alas, I have duties and responsibilities to meet.”

“Don’t we all,” Bucky said. He washed up and then shoved the blankets down to scramble under them. “Might as well sleep here as on the floor.”

Tony put the bowl and cloth on the table, out of the way, and then crawled in beside Bucky. He tried to remember the last time he’d shared a bed with someone for the purpose of _sleeping_. He wasn’t sure he’d ever done so, not for more than a quick nap, anyhow.

It felt good to fit his body to the curves and angles of Bucky’s, letting that warmth surround him.

Bucky blew out the last candle, leaving them in only the light from the fire, slowly sinking into embers. He buried his nose in the hair at the back of Tony’s neck, and within a few breaths, shifted into sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

A rattle of carriage wheels against the gravel drive drifted in through the school room window.

Tony looked up from where he was reading through RJ’s paper, the Properties of Solvents. The boy had been on his best behavior for the last several days.

When Tony had limped up to the castle, wearing strange clothing and carrying his own filthy rags under his arm, everyone had piled out of the castle to greet him, Kobik in the lead. “I was so so worried about you,” she had said, throwing herself into his arms. Which had been surprisingly touching, but also had nearly knocked him over.

RJ himself had been in the process of mounting a search, maps and the Boyar’s dogs were at the ready.

Frank had commented that the Boyar would be cross, if he had to hire a new tutor already, and Tony had better stick closer to the castle in the future, where Ms. Page had fussed over the state of his laundry.

He’d gotten the coat back, even, mostly clean and patched at the elbows, and one fraying cuff had been neatly repaired. It was still shabby, and now even shabbier, but that couldn’t be helped.

He ran a hand down it down now, brushing off lint and chalk dust and whatever else may have clung to it, and made his way to the window, leaning to look out and see who’d arrived. He sincerely hoped RJ hadn’t gotten in trouble again; Tony couldn’t afford to bail the boy out this time.

The carriage was silver lacquered, drawn by four enormous red horses, a red star emblazoned on the doors. This was no police wagon, but a noble’s conveyance.

The man who hopped out, not needing, or perhaps not even noticing, that Frank was there with the stool and a hand, was huge, wearing a furred cape and the hood pulled up against the weather; it had gotten a little cold after the rain, not quite winter yet, but thinking about it.

The boyar. Tony glanced around the schoolroom, but it was fairly tidy. He put RJ’s essay in the desk drawer and locked it, then needlessly brushed down his coat again and ran a hand through his hair as he made his way into the hall. He knocked on Kobik’s door and then RJ’s, though he had no idea if either of them were in their rooms, having been given an afternoon off while Tony caught up on marking.

RJ came out right away, holding a novel with his finger tucked to mark his place. Kobik was a little slower, but as soon as she heard Tony mention the Boyar’s carriage, she was out in a flash, her pinafore covered in paint from where she’d been working on -- well, something messy, of course. “Papa’s home?” she demanded, hanging off Tony’s poor jacket.

“So it seems,” Tony said. “Shall we go down and greet him properly?”

“ _All hail the boyar_ ,” RJ muttered in Romanian, and Tony only recognized it because it was writ under one of the paintings in the dining hall, and he’d asked Frank. 

“Papa! Papa!” Kobik was bouncing on her toes and would have taken off running if Tony hadn’t snagged her hand.

“Let’s show your Papa how well-behaved you can be, when you try,” he suggested. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate that.”

The three of them headed down toward the main entryway. Tony had met most of the servants over the last month or more, and it seemed as if all of them had turned out to greet their master on his return, as the entry was crowded with people.

Frank was already throwing trunks and packages to the footmen, and Ms. Page was speaking to the boyar, holding a sheaf of papers that Tony suspected might be the monthly expenses.

The boyar rumbled something and handed Ms. Page something -- a coin or a trinket, it was difficult to see from that angle.

“Papa!” Kobik shrieked, trying to climb up Tony’s arm to get a better look.

The boyar turned toward them and pushed his hood back, grinning widely. And then his eyes went huge in a very familiar face.

His hair was cleaner and styled with more of an eye toward fashion than it had been when Tony had seen him last; his clothing black leather armor with the fur coat over it, empty sleeve hanging loose on one side. 

_Bucky_.

He mouthed a word that looked like a profanity from the short distance across the hall, and then was down on one knee to scoop up Kobik in a one armed hug.

And thank God for that; Kobik’s irrepressible enthusiasm gave Tony a few moments to stifle his own initial shock and shove his scrambled reactions far down his throat so none of them would burst free.

Had Bucky given any hint at all that he was the boyar when Tony had spent the evening with him in the woods? Tony’s thoughts were a whirlwind, but nothing came to mind.

Of course, now that he thought of it, Tony hadn’t ever told Bucky that he was placed at the castle, either, so blame for their mutual ignorance rested squarely on both sets of shoulders.

Well. So much for a half-spun fantasy of returning to the cabin and finding Bucky again; any sort of dalliance with Bucky -- with the _boyar_ \-- was totally out of the question, at least, as long as Tony was employed at the castle. He swallowed down something that tasted faintly of regret and squared his shoulders, preparing to be “introduced” to the boyar.

RJ gave a smooth bow, all docile respect and obeisance. Tony wondered what, exactly, the pod creature inhabiting RJ’s body had done with the boy. “Lord Barnes,” he said, easily.

“Richard,” Bucky said, acknowledging him. “And--” Bucky swallowed so hard that Tony could hear it. “--you must be Mr. Stark, the new tutor.”

Tony managed a bow. “I am, Lord Barnes. I’m glad to make your acquaintance at last. Perhaps, sometime in the next several days, you will be available to sit with me and go over the children’s progress.” He couldn’t quite meet Bucky’s eyes directly.

“I would be most pleased to make time on my schedule to oversee their studies,” Bucky said. He seemed to be having nearly as much trouble looking straight at Tony. “I had hoped for something a bit sooner, if the project I inquired for was complete?”

“Papa,” Kobik said, as if she’d just now noticed. “What happened to your arm?”

“I broke it falling off a horse,” Bucky said. “Would you like to see? It’s a grand mess. Now which case-- ah, here ‘tis.” Bucky put the girl down, unclasped the closures on a trunk and threw open the lid. Inside--

Inside was a metal arm, shiny silver, with complex plates and movable joints and working fingers. The elbow was badly damaged, but looked repairable. And, aside from Bucky himself, was the most beautiful thing Tony had ever seen.

Tony almost reached out to touch it, and then snatched his hand back. He could see, suddenly, how the hinge he’d constructed would fit, and its odd construction finally made sense. More, Tony could immediately imagine several ways that it might be improved, to make motion smoother, to allow more mobility... His hands itched for a notebook and a pencil, to jot his ideas down before he forgot them.

“How did you fall off a horse, you’re the best rider, Papa--”

“It’s a long story, and one that you will be ready to hear, perhaps, when you are older,” Bucky said. 

Kobik sulked a moment, then, “did you bring me a present?”

“Of course,” Bucky told her. “I brought you all presents. Shall I give them out now?”

There was a bit of fuss as the servants, and even RJ crowded forward to see what treats the boyar had brought back with him.

It was almost a relief, to stand back and let the others take over Bucky’s attention, to have the weight of that gaze off him.

“All right, you’ve got your presents,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “I need to rest and wash up from the journey. It’s been a long one. Mr. Stark, if I might-- erm. See you in my study by the top of the hour, if you please.”

“Of course, your lordship,” Tony agreed, because what else could he say? “I’ll bring the toolbox, shall I?”

Bucky blinked, startled, then, “Yes, please do.”

Bucky hugged his daughter again, and while he didn’t exactly get much encouragement, engulfed RJ in one of those massive embraces, as well, patting the boy on the shoulder.

Kobik watched Bucky go, then turned to Tony. “What did you get for your present?”

_More than you know._ Tony spread his empty hands with a smile. “The opportunity to examine the most beautiful prosthetic I’ve ever seen.”

Frank came over, then. “The Boyar is generous,” he said, and pressed a small pouch into Tony’s hands.

RJ sneered, rolling his eyes. “Oh, yes, very much so,” he said. “It’s easy to be generous with money you didn’t earn.”

Tony bounced the little bag on his palm. “Would you rather he be stingy with money he didn’t earn, instead?” he challenged.

RJ scoffed. “What do you know about it, anyway?”

“The boyar isn’t the only wealthy man I’ve encountered in my life,” Tony said mildly.

The boy stormed off, pointedly smacking into Tony’s shoulder on the way past, and slamming every door he could find between the main entry and the nursery rooms.

It was a truly ridiculous number of doors, and Kobik had her hands plastered over her mouth trying to keep the giggles from escaping until her brother was well out of earshot.

“So much for my brief reprieve,” Tony said, more amused than anything else. He patted Kobik on the shoulder. “Go on, go enjoy your presents. I need to prepare my report for your father.” Also, to figure out what the _hell_ to even say to the man about their previous encounter, though Tony wasn’t going to admit that to Kobik.

The study’s door was slightly ajar when Tony went to make his report, some thirty minutes later. He had the tool box and the newly crafted hinge with him, along with the children’s marks and a few pages of commentary.

Bucky looked up the instant that Tony’s hand touched the door. “Tony,” he said, “please come in.”

Tony didn’t quite allow himself to take a bracing breath before he crossed the threshold. “Your lordship,” he said. “I know you must be tired from your journey. Where would you like to begin?”

How was it remotely fair that the man was _even more_ beautiful when dressed in a lord’s finery, when he’d already been stunning when Tony’d thought him a rough woodsman? His shoulders seemed, if anything, broader and stronger, his clean-shaven face sharp and elegant as cut crystal.

"With an apology," Bucky said. "Seems best to be about it at once." He took several breaths, either steadying himself to speak, or waiting for Tony to begin, and while the man himself was quite a bit different than those that Tony had faced across desks such as these before, he was aware of the sinking feeling of wrongdoing, of Tony once again not meeting expectations, of being at fault, of--

“I should have introduced myself more fully,” Tony said before that feeling could rise up and overwhelm him. “I didn’t know, obviously, that you were...” He waved a hand in Bucky’s direction.

"Tony," and Bucky's voice was very gentle, "I meant to apologize to _you_ , if you will allow it. I took advantage of the situation. Of your ignorance. I thought… that you might be one of the villagers, someone that I might. Be able to have a dalliance with. Of course, that… would no longer be appropriate. I did -- here. I brought a gift. One for the new tutor, of course, but this was meant for _you_."

He stood and offered Tony a new jacket, deep red with braid along the shoulders.

Tony’s mouth fell open, and he snapped it shut hurriedly. “This is--” _Too much_ , he nearly said, but he did _need_ a new coat, and he had spent his wardrobe stipend on RJ’s bail. “Very generous,” he amended. “Are you sure it won’t... cause talk?”

“If anything comes of it, I will merely say I did not find your current jacket much to my liking,” Bucky said. “I would-- I would not have you know it as an insult, however. You have an elegant figure, it should be proudly displayed. Forgive me, do, for starting things off particularly uncomfortably for you.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Tony said earnestly. “We can... start fresh, if you like, as if our previous meeting never occurred.” He didn’t want to try to forget that meeting, but... perhaps it would be for the best if he did.

“I make it a habit not-- not to tell lies,” Bucky said. “There are political reasons, as well as providing an example that the children can _trust_ , as they have seldom had a reason to do so. But, perhaps it is best that we not _mention_ it, if it can be avoided. More to preserve your reputation and aid with reestablishing your character.”

Tony felt heat climb his cheeks and the back of his neck. “Ah. So you do know about... that.” He had stood with his chin high to face the mockery of his so-called peers and never felt so much as a twinge of guilt or shame, but now, faced with Bucky’s too-knowing gaze, he wanted to fidget like a green boy, to stammer out excuses and protests.

“It’s ridiculous, the way so much of society and character are ridiculous,” Bucky said. “You drink, you enjoy yourself, and no one was harmed of it. There are many, bleaker, things that men do, and society turns a blind eye toward it. But I am only one man, and you must still live in society.”

That... was something of a relief. Tony nodded, half-bowing in gratitude. “Thank you. That... is a comfort.” He straightened. “And... to business, then? Would you rather the repair, first, or the report on your... wards?”

“Are-- you can, in fact, repair it?” Bucky asked, looking as relieved as Tony felt. “I’d had to have maintenance done a few times, under extreme duress. My-- erm. Former employers are not eager to let me share in the fruits of their labor. I was afraid this time I might be done for good.”

Tony glanced at Bucky briefly, bemused by the stiff and proper language, when they’d been so easy, before. Of course, Tony knew as well as anyone that one did not survive any sort of society without a mask. “I cannot be certain until I’ve examined it, but I have yet to discover any mechanism I cannot tease the secrets from eventually.”

“Then please, have a look,” Bucky said. “And if your mouth can be spared it, you’re welcome to tell me what mischief they’ve been up to while I’m away. Richard, in particular, is prone to being a troublemaker. He’s driven off three tutors and governesses already, and he’s nearly unmanageable, at times.”

“He has been something of a challenge,” Tony admitted. “Slowly, I think, he is coming to trust my word somewhat.” He bent over the mechanical arm to examine it. It was a gorgeous piece of machinery, sturdy and yet precise, delicately balanced. He reached into the toolbox for a jeweler’s screwdriver. “You should know that he is bound to face the judge, when the man next comes to the village, for committing violence against the vicar.”

“I can’t say I’m much surprised at that,” Bucky told him. “Where-- where he was raised, the vicars, in particular, hold a great deal of power. In truth, I’m not sure it’s much better, here. What did the man do to set him off?”

Tony snorted. “Blocked him from entering the brothel, apparently. Though I haven’t had that from his own word.”

“Ahhh,” Bucky said, as if this meant more to him than it did to Tony. “Will it help your opinion of him if I inform you that the owner of the brothel, and to whom most of the profits are given over… is the vicar?”

Tony glanced up. “Then why should the vicar block anyone wishing to gain entry?”

“Richard has been encouraging the girls to go home,” Bucky told him. “To find other, more satisfying work, rather than letting others profit from the use of their bodies.”

Tony hummed in understanding. “Well, that explains why he refused to tell me his tale. He’d rather be kept bound and blinded in prison than admit he was trying to help someone.”

“And, perhaps, that most of his tutors would in fact, listen to slander,” Bucky said. “I admit, I did ask the factors to consider… more unorthodox teachers. You-- were everything that we could have needed, and I’m glad you’ve come. Assuming, of course, you want to stay and that I haven’t driven you off.”

“Of course I’ll stay,” Tony said, fishing in the toolbox for a pair of tweezers. “I couldn’t bear to disappoint Kobik -- it would haunt me forever, I fear.” He flashed Bucky a quick smile. “And when he’s of a mood to be pleasant, RJ is quite clever and engaging. I have some hope of drawing that side of him out a little more.” Best not to mention the draw of Bucky himself. Tony had never been one to deny himself much of anything -- even if the having of it hurt him.

“It’s good to know,” Bucky said. “That there is still hope for him. He speaks highly of you, in the letters he wrote me. Well, highly, assuming you are able to understand that he does not, in fact, speak well of anyone.”

“I should be surprised if he did,” Tony said. The few themes he had managed to get from RJ tended to focus on the idiocy of the subjects.

“He said, and I quote, ‘he is not entirely useless, and knows some few things of interest,’” Bucky told him.

Tony laughed aloud. “High praise, indeed.” He managed to pry the damaged pieces off the arm and gave himself a moment to greedily contemplate its inner workings. “I didn’t realize the children were corresponding with you,” he admitted. “I was under the impression that your location was... variable.”

“It is, but I have places where I can collect letters,” Bucky said. “They usually send several copies. Richard maintains that I force it on him, the need to give a mission repo-- to…” Bucky almost faded out, the way his eyes focused on something that wasn’t there, and the life dimmed from his face.

“...Your lordship?” Tony didn’t quite dare reach out to touch Bucky, but he leaned putting himself in the way of Bucky’s vision.

“Oh,” Bucky said, and jerked himself abruptly back. His face was ashen pale and the hair at his temples was sticky there with sudden sweat. “I’m-- you were saying?” He worked his mouth a few times, like trying to remember how words worked, how polite society functioned.

Tony hesitated, pretending to focus on a particularly fine joint in the arm. “That Kobik is a delight, and will, in ten or fifteen years’ time, utterly terrorize swathes of suitors who are unable to keep up with her.”

“There’s a terrifying thought,” Bucky said, and he gave a laugh that should have sounded real, and somehow didn’t. “Kobik, as a society miss. And the effort it will take to keep Richard from skewering any man that looks at her cross-eyed.”

Tony chuckled. “I wish you luck in that endeavor. I suspect your only hope is to have him married off, himself, well in advance of her debut.”

“Good luck with that,” Bucky said. “So, what do you think, is it too badly damaged for repair, or--” He turned his attention to the arm forcibly, looking at what Tony was doing. “If you require it, I might be able to obtain the original sketches.”

Tony hummed. “I wouldn’t say no to the sketches, if they’re not too much trouble to come by. But if you give me a week, I expect I can have it repaired, if you don’t mind a few lingering dents.” He picked up the requisitioned hinge and lifted it into place. The fit was perfect. Tony grinned and screwed it down.

“You may certainly have the week,” Bucky said. “The sketches, on the other hand, are rather far into the Carpathians, and not in friendly hands.”

“Ah, well, then don’t bother about it. Give me...” He peered into the arm’s innards again, roughly calculating. “Three weeks, if you can spare them, and I’ll create new ones.”

“And you say that _Kobik_ is terrifying,” Bucky said, moderately awed. “Aren’t you a marvel?”

Tony snorted. “Kobik is not terrifying to _me_ ,” he pointed out. “She has a vast intellect, and once trained to use it, will be... something to behold. But for now, she is, quite precisely, childlike in its application -- she has difficulty bringing multiple threads of thought together and applying them. No fault of hers, of course. She is, in fact, a child. And she is making great strides. But I have trained my mind for years, and it is well exercised.” He glanced up, giving Bucky a flash of a grin. “I took the position of tutor because I was certain I could _do_ it, but my passion is mechanics.”

“That’s good to know,” Bucky said, his mobile face a little more weary. “Go on, then, if you’ll excuse me, I think the journey has-- I need rest. If you don’t mind. Dinner, perhaps, I’ll see you. The children often join me at the table when I’ve been away.”

Tony gathered up his things, and the arm, since he would be working on it, and bowed. “Of course, your lordship. I’ll speak with you later.”

He slipped out of the study and only barely resisted the urge to lean against the wall in relief for having escaped unscathed. It had not, after all, been nearly as harrowing -- or embarrassing -- a conversation as it might well have been.

Behind him, as the door slipped shut, he heard a muffled cry and a heavy thud, but then, silence.


	7. Chapter 7

Tony stood in front of the glass in his rooms, eyeing his silhouette.

The new coat fit _perfectly_ , which made Tony wonder if Bucky had just made some lucky guesses, or if he was really skilled enough to learn Tony’s measurements from one night of passion.

Tony’s neck heated. _No passion_ , he reminded himself. _He’s nobility, and you’re the disinherited son of a wealthy industrialist. You’re the tutor and he’s your employer. No passion_.

Still, he fussed with his hair and triple-checked the line of his beard more than he ever had before, resolutely not thinking about why he wanted to look perfect.

The big clock chimed the dinner hour, and Tony made himself turn away.

_It’s just dinner. You’re going to be at the far end of the table where he won’t even see you,_ he reminded himself. Which didn’t stop the soft little flutter in his stomach as he made his way to the dining hall.

RJ was hiding in one of the corners of the hall, looking for all the world like he was attempting to be late on purpose. But he was still the very picture of a young gentleman’s son, dressed up, and with his cravat on, which Tony had never seen him wear before.

“You can take me in to dinner,” Kobik told Tony, giving him a little curtsey. She was also dressed up, her nicest, cleanest pinafore and matching stockings and her hair was combed, although the part was quite a bit lopsided.

“I should be honored,” Tony told her solemnly, with his best society manners, bending to offer her his arm. “I’ll be able to tell all my friends that I had the arm of the loveliest lady in the land.”

RJ snorted, but didn’t say anything, studying the books on the shelves with apparent interest. The bell rang for supper, and one of the footmen opened the far door into the dining room. Tony had only been there once; he and the children usually ate off the nursery.

Tony escorted Kobik in, letting her lead him to what he assumed was her usual seat, when she dined with her father. He held to all the high society rules that he could, holding her seat for her, enjoying her poorly-repressed excitement at being treated like an adult.

“There you are, m’lady,” he said, discreetly nudging the napkin toward her to remind her to put it in her lap. “If you will excuse me, I’ll go and seek my own place now.”

Bucky, who was already within, as was his privilege, watched them with amusement. He opened his mouth to say something, coughed, and then said, “You look quite lovely this evening. I’m delighted that you could join me. And so promptly.” There was a tone in his voice that said he was speaking to his daughter, but he did glance up at Tony, and that flush on his cheeks said even more.

Tony’s neck wasn’t going to cool off any time soon, but he’d grown up making meaningless small talk. He smiled back and smoothed Kobik’s hair. “She is, isn’t she. I’m sure RJ will be joining us at any moment; we passed him in the hall.”

“He’s probably awaiting the ladies,” Bucky said. 

Tony paused, looking at the table, which was set for six. “The... ladies?” He wasn’t aware of any women in the castle aside from Kobik, at least, none who’d properly be sitting to dinner with the boyar.

“My cousin, Miss Sharon Carter,” Bucky said, “and her dear friend, Miss Natasha Romanoff, recently arrived from a journey of her own.”

“You can sit here with me, Mr. Stark,” Kobik told him. “And Auntie Sharon will sit next to you, and then RJ across, and Miss Romanoff next to Papa.” She beamed at her father. “Miss Romanoff’s very pretty.”

“Yes, thank you, Little Miss Matchmaker, I’m aware of how pretty she is,” Bucky told Kobik.

Tony squashed an absurd spurt of jealousy. Bucky didn’t even sound interested, and even if he was, that was entirely acceptable. It was _Tony_ who was unacceptable. “I look forward to meeting them,” he said, more than half by rote, and took the seat next to Kobik, as directed.

“I had intended it to be a less formal occasion,” Bucky said, “but Sharon got the news I had come home, and-- well.”

A few minutes later, RJ came in with two ladies; one on either arm, and he looked about as smug and pleased as Tony had ever seen him.

One woman, with a remarkably short crop of blond hair, was dressed in a silver gown, far more formal than the occasion really required. She said something to RJ that made him laugh, and then swatted at the boy with her reticule. 

The other, red-haired, was clad in a dress nearly as red as her hair, and quite daring. 

“Miss Sharon Carter, Miss Natasha Romanoff, allow me to present the newest member of my household, Mr. Anthony Stark.”

Tony, having stood as they entered, aimed a bow between the two ladies. “Miss Carter, Miss Romanoff, my pleasure.” Miss Romanoff was indeed extremely beautiful.

“Mr. Stark,” Sharon greeted him. “It’s so kind of you to join us and round out our little party. The more the merrier.”

Miss Romanoff looked Tony up and down, as if searching his very soul for some important scrap of information, but all she said was, “That’s quite a lovely jacket. I’m fond of red.”

“Thank you; I’m partial to the shade, myself. I’m told you and Miss Carter are dear friends; have you known each other long?”

“Long enough,” Miss Romanoff said. “I’ve known Sharon since she was nine years old, and James long enough to remember when he had both arms.”

“I’ll have both again soon,” Bucky said, giving her a lopsided smile. “As soon as Mr. Stark’s done his work.”

“A few weeks,” Tony agreed. “Less, if it’s needed especially urgently.” The ladies took their seats, and Tony followed suit. He pulled his napkin onto his lap, and then, under the table, nudged Kobik to stop kicking her chair leg.

Tony hadn’t exactly been going hungry the last month or more, but the dinners considered acceptable for the children and their tutor were a far cry from what he’d been used to at home. For the boyar, however, Ms. Page had obviously pulled out all the stops, given that it was a full meal in courses, starting with a mildly spicy soup with rice and rabbit.

Miss Carter lived in one of the larger homes in the village proper, despite, Bucky protested, that he’d invited her to live in the castle more than once, but she despised the drafty old stone heap.

“Stone heap?” Bucky looked almost offended. “It’s quite a bit nicer than that.”

“It’s not as drafty as it could be,” Tony pointed out. “Someone had the excellent sense to put heavy drapery on the exterior windows.”

“And then someone else climbs on them and yanks them down,” Sharon said, eyeing Kobik with mock suspicion. “I wonder who that could be.”

“Nobody,” Kobik protested.

“I’m sure she’s only teasing,” Tony assured Kobik. “But castle living obviously isn’t for everyone. Who can blame Miss Carter if she’d like a somewhat more modern home?”

“I like the castle,” Kobik said. “There’s all sorts of places to go, and-- stuff to see, and secret doors--”

“Have you been down in my wine cellar again?”

“ _Again_?” RJ looked betrayed. “Why don’t I know about any wine cellar?”

“The fact that you _want_ to know about a wine cellar, I think, is sufficient explanation as to why you don’t,” Tony said wryly. “I can see I shall have to prevail on Miss Kobik to take me exploring sometime soon.”

“The door wasn’t that hard to find,” Kobik said, and stuck her tongue out at her brother.

“Well, now I know what RJ will be doing with his next free afternoon,” Tony sighed. “Someone remind me to speak to Ms. Page about hangover remedies.”

RJ opened his mouth as if he was going to protest needing a hangover remedy.

“Whatever you’re about to say will be the wrong thing,” Miss Carter predicted.

Tony chuckled at the twist of RJ’s mouth and applied himself to his soup. He tried not to sneak looks at Bucky -- at least, not any more than he could help it. He focused on showing Kobik the proper way to hold and use her utensils, though he didn’t attempt to correct RJ’s rather terrible -- and, Tony suspected, deliberate -- manners, merely leading by example.

He did catch Bucky looking at _him_ a few times, and did his best not to hold the boyar’s gaze. They had agreed that nothing more should happen between them, after all. Tony was merely present to even the numbers and keep an eye on the children.

“So, what did happen to your arm, James,” Miss Romanoff asked, suddenly drawing everyone’s attention, moreso, perhaps, with the familiar use of his name than the actual question.

Bucky poked his bowl of buttered peas a few times, and reluctantly shoved some into his mouth. Tony couldn’t tell if it was because he was dodging the question, or that he didn’t particularly care for peas, but was also trying to lead by example. Finally, he set his fork down and blotted his mouth with his napkin.

“I found myself in a bit of an argument with a very large wolf,” he said. “The argument was, of course, whether I would consent to being dinner, and if I would not, would I at least be so kind as to leave the horse behind.”

The dry delivery startled a laugh out of Tony. He covered his mouth in embarrassment. “Forgive me; that shouldn’t be funny.”

“It was,” Bucky said, earnestly. “If I were anyone else, I’d laugh at me. Instead, as I am many types of idiot, but mostly one who didn’t do so well in the sciences, and I forgot that for each and every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Very important, when firing a gun from horseback.”

“Did the wolf chew your arm off?” Kobik gasped. Her peas were entirely uneaten, and at that exclamation, she put her elbow down on the side of the bowl and nearly knocked the whole thing onto the floor.

Tony caught it before more than a few could spill. “Elbows,” he murmured. One day, he might actually convince her to keep her elbows off the table. Picking up the spilled peas gave him an excuse to pretend that he wasn’t practically holding his breath, waiting for the rest of the story.

“He did not,” Bucky said. “I fired once, and went tumbling off the side of my horse. The ungrateful creature kept right on running, and I frankly don’t blame him. Much. Now, I’m probably a bit less tasty than a horse, but there I was on the ground, and the horse was already nearly to the edge of the forest. I hit the ground badly on my way down and the hinge on my elbow snapped backward. Consult with Mr. Stark if you’d like the details of all the damage.

“But I happened to have a repeating rifle, and one shot left. Couldn’t afford to miss a second time, but here I am with no working left arm. My tutors always told me the devil’s own work would come of favoring my left arm, and I suppose now I have to believe them. Because I propped that rifle up on my knees, got my right hand on the trigger, and here’s Mr. Hungry Wolf, practically crawling up my lap, drooling on my pants. And I shot him right in the throat.”

Kobik gasped, then applauded, and the rest of the table seemed eager to show appreciation, both for his narrow escape, and for Bucky’s masterful storytelling.

“If you ever want to give up your land and titles, you could make a living as a tavern storyteller,” Tony joked, raising his glass toward Bucky in silent toast.

“Do not tempt him, I beg you,” Miss Carter said. “He had no wish to take up the lands and title in the first place, and there were many arguments before we persuaded him to do so. The land needs its Boyar.”

“The land could have its fill of Boyars,” Bucky corrected. “But, it was me, or someone much worse. So, here I am.”

“For which your people are, no doubt, grateful,” Tony said.

“Lesser of two evils is still evil,” Bucky said, and he turned his chin toward one of the wide windows, but if he was seeing anything beyond the walls, Tony would eat the rest of Kobik’s peas for her.

Miss Carter scoffed. “So dramatic.”

Tony glanced at her sidelong. “Well, better a ruler who despises their power than one who craves it.”

“So, what happened to the _wolf_?” Kobik demanded, not really caring all that much for the turn of the conversation.

“He was, in fact, quite dead, rather messy, and heavier than something I wanted to carry, on foot, across the next twenty miles while I tried to find out what happened to my horse,” Bucky said. “So, I left him there, as a warning to other wolves.”

“And did they heed your warning?” Miss Romanoff asked, and something in her eyes made Tony think she was asking an entirely different question.

“They haven’t followed me home, so at the moment, I’m going to say, yes, they did.”

* * *

After dinner, the party broke into two groups, the ladies to the parlor for creamed sherry -- and Kobik was very excited to be allowed a small glass of watered down madeira -- and the gentlemen to the billards room for scotch and cigars.

Bucky ran a hand over the green cloth on the table. “Do you play?”

“I have,” Tony said. “It’s not my finest game, but it’s an excellent application of geometry.”

RJ sulked in the corner for a bit, until Bucky offered around a humidor, at which point he came forward to try one. Given the way his throat turned green a puff in, Tony decided it must be his first. 

“Imported from France,” Bucky said. “Ridiculous, but it’s a status symbol. Everything about this place, purchased for the aggrandizement of a man who cared more for the bottom of a bottle than he did for the people he squeezed in order to get it. My father,” -- He indicated a portrait over the fireplace of a man who did not look particularly much like Bucky. “George Barnes.”

Tony let a swallow of the scotch burn smoothly down his throat and then picked up the billiard cue, bending to sight along its length. “I daresay that makes him not unlike most noble folk,” he said neutrally.

Bucky took a cigar, trimmed it and lit it, filling the room with pungent smoke. “When you fix my arm, we’ll have to play a game. I haven’t had much of a challenge. Seeing how well I can control the prosthetic, well, that would be an interesting test, don’t you think?”

RJ took another draw off his cigar, coughed, and then flushed, trying to pretend like he wasn’t coughing.

“There’s no rule of manhood that says you must master all the bad habits of your father,” Bucky told him.

“You’re _not_ my father,” RJ said, wiping at his eyes.

“No,” Bucky said. “His habits were much worse.”

“My mother could not abide the smell of cigar smoke,” Tony confided to the room in general. “And so my father took to holding one between his teeth, but never lighting it.” It was one of the few kindnesses he’d ever seen from Howard.

“What you can do, if you like,” Bucky told RJ, “is take several, and smoke them all, one at a time, until the last one is gone. You’ll probably throw up several times, but you can do it privately. After that, you’ll find they’re a little easier to bear.”

“That’s stupid,” RJ said, and he stubbed out the cigar against the fireplace. “It’s _disgusting_.” He seemed almost betrayed by this realization.

“Oh, yes, it is,” Bucky said, amused. “They’re not called bad habits lightly.” He glanced over at Tony. “But I see someone else who has mastered the art of drinking and smoking. Tell me, Mr. Stark, or, in fact, tell RJ, do you think it makes you somehow more of a man?”

“Not at all,” Tony said. “I believe manhood -- and, indeed, womanhood -- lies in the courage to stand by one’s convictions, the intelligence to argue those convictions convincingly, and the wisdom to alter those convictions when presented with compelling evidence. You can teach a child to drink and smoke, if you’re determined enough; it doesn’t make them any more of an adult.”

Bucky raised a glass to him. “Well said.” He watched Tony over the rim of his cup, eyes intense, and took a drink. “Adulthood is-- a point in your development, and you probably won’t notice the moment when it happens. It’s not about leaving childish things behind, or learning to do stupid grown up ones. It’s not even a single moment, no more the number of years of your span, or the date on a calendar. You’ll be more than halfway into it before you even realize it’s happened. But it’s when everything changes. And you know you have only yourself to rely upon, that others are counting on you, and that what you do-- _matters_.” He threw back the rest of his drink. “In truth, I think Kobik will be an adult before any of us here in this room.”

Tony laughed. “You may well be right.” He put the cue back in its rack and took another mouthful of the fine scotch. “I certainly have no wish to rush the moment.”

Bucky filled his glass again, smiling as RJ glared back and forth between the two of them, obviously uncertain if they were mocking him, or there was some grand joke that he was missing out on.

“Go rescue your sister from the ladies,” Bucky suggested. “I expect they’re probably wanting to see her embroidery samples and you know she hasn’t done any. And off to bed with you both.”

RJ huffed, and then, very deliberately, took a handful of the cigars and left the room.

“At least he didn’t slam the door,” Bucky said, watching him go.

“He’s still trying to find the line.” Tony leaned against the billiards table, amused. “He slammed the schoolroom door my second week here and I halted lessons to take the door down, sand out the dent he’d put in it, and repaint it.”

“Do you suppose he got the point?” Bucky wondered. “To be quite honest, I’ve had just about enough of loud noises -- battle is no place for peace and quiet. He feels the need to be dramatic, like we might overlook him, otherwise. I suggested to him once that he’d be much more impressive, leaving the room as if in a Shakespearean tragedy. _Exeunt, pursued by a bear._ ”

Tony chuckled. “I don’t know, really. He hasn’t slammed a door on me since, but that doesn’t mean he’s actually learned anything. I can’t relate, really; I spent my adolescence wanting _not_ to be noticed.”

“I don’t see how anyone could not notice you,” Bucky said, and then he hastily took another sip of his drink.

“Oh, I was a dreadfully awkward child, all elbows and knees,” Tony said lightly, turning to examine the painting on the wall so Bucky wouldn’t see him rubbing at his chest, trying to ease the ache behind his sternum that had flared at the mild flirtation. _We’re not doing this,_ he reminded Bucky silently.

“Well, perhaps,” Bucky said, at last, “they just didn’t notice what they were looking at.” He sat the glass down and hissed air through his teeth. There was a long silence, where Bucky could have been thinking any number of things, and Tony refused to turn around to look, to study the expression on his face. “I have… obligations tomorrow and the next day. With my steward, and some visits I must make. You will probably not see me much, for some short time. We will… check your progress on the repairs… Thursday morning?”

“I am at your disposal, of course,” Tony said, both relieved and disappointed to return to mundane discussion. He turned and set his own glass down, as it seemed the evening was drawing to a close. “I hope to have something worthy of showing you.”

Bucky made a small sound in his throat, something stifled, soft and uninterpretable, and his sharp eyed gaze grew round. Fond, perhaps. “Good night, Tony.”

“Good night, your lordship,” Tony said evenly. “Welcome home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Mulligatawny soup](https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2010/oct/30/traditional-british-soup-recipes) (It's about three recipes down.)


	8. Chapter 8

The door to Tony’s room swung open and banged against the wall, waking up Alpine, who dug his claws into Tony’s leg as he launched off the bed and scurried away.

“Nobody’s in my room!” Kobik squeaked, sounding offended, angry, and scared all at the same time. 

Tony pried an eyelid open. “Well, now that you’ve left it, there is definitely no one in your room,” he agreed. “Why are you up so early, Kobik?”

“Nobody’s going to burn the castle down,” she said, like this was a solid fact. She made a few grunting noises as she climbed onto Tony’s bed, practically hauling the blankets off him in the process and definitely letting in a cold air draft. One of the pillows went onto the floor with a thump.

Tony sighed and hauled her into his lap, resettling the blankets. “That’s good,” he said. “I’m glad the castle is safe.”

“I saw it,” she insisted, snuggling up against his chest. “It was all burning up, and smoking, and no one could _breathe_.”

“But you just _said_ \--” Tony gave up trying to apply logic. It was too early in the morning for logic. “It was probably just a bad dream, sweetheart.” He wrapped his arms around her and rocked a little, soothing. “Everything’s fine, everyone’s fine.”

“Make her leave! I don’t want her here,” Kobik said, sniffling.

“Make _who--_ Fine.” Kobik could be incoherent and nonsensical when she’d woken from a bad dream. “Come on, let’s go look at your room.” He lifted her to the floor, then slid out himself, grabbing for his robe. He took her hand and led her back out to the hall, where her bedroom door was standing open. “I don’t see anyone in there,” he pointed out.

“She was,” Kobik said, and abruptly started crying, rubbing her eyes with both hands and nearly toppling out of Tony’s grip. “She was here, she _was_.”

Tony rubbed her little back, heaving with the force of her sobs. “I believe you, sweetheart,” he said. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

“Nobody’s going to make you leave us,” she sobbed, hiccuping. “I don’t want you to go away.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Tony promised. “I’m right here, I’m staying here.”

Tearfully, Kobik walked him through the entire routine again, checking her windows to make sure they were closed and locked, examining the closet for nobody, peering under the bed, and just recently, she'd added taking all the books off their shelves and putting them back on. Tony didn’t know where she got her notions, sometimes, but the routine helped calm her down. And if, in the process of moving the books, Tony found a half-eaten apple that really should not be in the room attracting bugs and rats and who knew what else, that was a good thing.

“You’re going to do lines, the next time I catch food in your room,” he threatened. “And now, go back to--” The big clock in the main hall tolled out the hour: six in the morning. Too late to go back to sleep, really. Tony scrubbed his hand over his face. “Tell you what: Wait here for me while I wash up and get dressed, and you can help me get your Papa’s arm all set up and ready to go.”

He’d be installing it later this morning, having finally finished his schematics and re-assembling (and partially rebuilding) the thing.

“Yes, Mr. Tony,” Kobik said, twisting her fingers behind her back and looking up at him like he was scolding her. “I’m sorry. Nobody scares me.”

He petted her hair. “You’ll be okay. I’ll only be gone for half an hour. Okay? Read a book while you wait; what about that one from the other day, on the clockworks?”

Kobik nodded, eager to find something to get her accounts square with Tony again. She grabbed the book and clambered back onto her bed. 

Tony patted her back again, and went to wash his face. She had such a vivid imagination, it was no wonder her dreams and nightmares frightened her. Tony’s own tutor had often said that an active imagination was the sign of great intelligence. Of course, Tony’s tutor had mostly been concerned with reining in his runaway thoughts and learning to focus on the matter at hand.

There was something distinctly wrong with being awake earlier than the crows. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon and everything had that not-yet-awake feeling about it.There wouldn’t even be breakfast ready for another few hours, and while Tony wasn’t always an eggs and bacon sort of man, it also meant the morning coffee was unlikely to be ready.

Ms. Page preferred tea as her morning beverage, and only started the coffee when the rest of the household was getting up.

Tony muttered and grumbled wordlessly as he went about his morning toilette, a quick wash and shave, and then back to his room to dress for the day.

“Mortals,” he announced as he returned to Kobik’s room to collect her, “are not meant to see the sun rise.”

“Well, that’s easy to fix,” Kobik said, hopping down from her bed. “Just don’t die, then you’re not mortal, right?”

Tony squinted at her. “I feel you are not taking this seriously enough,” he said. “The gods punish the hubris of men.”

“It’s Nobody’s fault,” she said. “Let’s go look at Papa’s arm. He’ll be all better soon, right?”

“As much better as we can make him,” Tony said. “Let’s go, then. Remember to be quiet in the halls so we don’t wake anyone else on the way.”

“All right,” she said, and followed along behind him, an enthusiastic shadow, now that she’d been reassured that everything was going to be fine. She trusted Tony to keep her safe.

There really wasn’t much more to do with the arm before the actual installation. Tony had finished assembling it the previous day, laid it out on a soft cloth to await its purpose, and carefully locked away both copies of the schematics that he’d made.

Still, he could always putter. He set Kobik to very carefully oiling the joints while he pulled out his other project, a modification to the prosthetic’s hand that, he thought, would provide somewhat more fine control over the grip. That is, if he could get all the pieces to work together correctly.

“I see you’re not letting any moss grow under your feet,” Bucky said, leaning in the door of the workshop. “I trust I’m not intruding.”

Tony looked up to discover that several hours had, in fact, passed, as he tinkered. Kobik had moved on and was very diligently sorting parts into bins and building what rather looked like a very small trebuchet. Chances were good, however, that it wouldn’t be able to fire anything larger than a horseshoe nail.

“You’re the star of the show today,” Tony pointed out, smiling. “Impossible to be intruding. Did we miss breakfast?”

“I had them leave out muffins and jam, if you’re hungry,” Bucky offered.

“A noble heart, in truth,” Tony laughed. “Kobik? If you’re not at too delicate a stage of work, you may want to go have breakfast.”

Kobik scrunched up her face, tied off the end of a piece of string. “I think it’s done,” she announced. “No test firing until I get back!”

And she disappeared, her feet pattering through the hall as she ran off to the breakfast room.

“Some days, I wish I could muster that much enthusiasm,” Bucky said, watching her go.

“I don’t have trouble summoning enthusiasm,” Tony countered. “It’s the _energy_ I envy.”

“Youth is wasted on the young,” Bucky agreed. “It’s only after your knees start aching in cold weather that you even realize you have them at all.” He shook his head, hair falling into his eyes and he pushed it back. “So, what will you have of me, this morning?”

An entire host of responses vied for attention in Tony’s thoughts, ranging from the flirtatious to entirely inappropriate. Somehow, he managed to keep them all behind his teeth and say, “You’re more familiar with the arm’s attachment than I could be -- what would be the most comfortable for you?”

Bucky apparently also struggled with his thoughts a moment, then, finally, said, “Seated but upright, if you please and the connections are not too taxing. You may need to speak with me, through the whole thing, that I don’t forget-- that it’s you.” He slanted a look at Tony. “Will there be much pain?”

“I certainly hope not,” Tony said. “A few twinges, and some mild discomfort will be impossible to avoid, but if I thought the pain would be significant, I’d have suggested a doctor be on hand to apply ether. I can’t make any promises, however, as I’ve never done this before.”

“There was a-- great deal of pain, the first time,” Bucky said, slowly. “And far too many doctors. Just. Speak with me, if you will.” He undressed from the waist up, giving Tony a clear field to work with.

“Whatever you wish,” Tony agreed. He pulled out a desk chair, somewhat the worse for wear (which was probably why it had been banished to the workshop). “Will this do? If we place it-- so, then I can sit on a stool and reach the arm and put my tools on this table.”

“Yes, I thank you,” Bucky said, then his eyes went a little dim. “Ain’t trying to make it harder on you than it needs t’ be, but-- I don’t want to hurt you, or the arm. By accident. It’s a weakness, I know.”

“It’s not so much more difficult that you need be sorry for it,” Tony said. “I’ve taken on much more awkward tasks.” He brought over the arm, first, in case Bucky wanted to look it over before Tony began the attachments, and then began laying out the tools he’d need. “I think the worst must be the time I had to repair a boiler that had -- for no apparent reason -- been installed under a porch. And of course I couldn’t just rip it out and replace it entirely, _no_...”

He continued telling the story, leaving out some of the more unpleasant bits and embellishing somewhat on the awkwardness and amusement, hoping to keep Bucky’s attention off the arm, at least somewhat, as he worked.

“...So I’m lying there, half covered in mud, and this dog is just determined to pull my shoe off and get away with it -- careful, this might pinch for just a second or two... Okay? Good. Where was I? Oh, the dog, yes. And then its owner comes up and says, _if you didn’t mean to throw it out, why are you in the rubbish heap?_ Well...”

Despite the cooler temperature of the workshop -- good ventilation was important, Tony maintained -- Bucky was sweating, shoulder held steady, the muscle gleaming and the scars livid against his skin. “Sounds like how I found Alpine, in fact,” he volunteered. 

“The mission--” Bucky said, his voice cracked, and then he coughed, starting again. “The mission involved advanced study of the target. Climbing trees to watch in the windows, picking through his bins to see what letters he may have disposed of. That sort of thing. So, one evening, I’m rummaging through the midden, and this-- bag starts shrieking at me. Unholy demon noises coming from a sackcloth, tied in a knot. I draw my knife; the noises are terrible, and I can’t risk being discovered. I cut open the bag to see what’s in it, and here’s this kitten, no bigger than my hand, screaming like Satan himself.”

Tony chuckled. “I can imagine it, all too well. And you kept him?”

“I scruffed him,” Bucky said, gesturing with his right hand, “and he made this little meep sound, and then started purring like mad. What was I supposed to do? I tucked him into my jacket pocket, and he just. Curled up and went to sleep. I went back to my job; to be honest, I completely forgot about him until I was back at my safehouse, and took my jacket off. He… he was the start of it, really.”

“The start?” Tony asked. He fiddled with a tiny screw. “Here, hold this in place for me. Yes, just put your hand-- a little lower. Perfect. Hold it as steady as you can.” His hand freed, he was able to position the screw more easily. “You were saying -- the start of it?”

“Of this,” Bucky said. “Coming home, taking my place, bringing… well, others who’ve gone on now, and then RJ, and most recently Kobik, out safely. A tiny purring demon-kitten reminded me that-- I had somewhere to call home.”

“It’s a very fine home,” Tony said. “Even if your demon-kitten weighs more than a stone, now, and is determined to sleep in the very center of my bed.”

“Lucky cat,” Bucky remarked, idly. “In that he won’t sleep with me, anymore. I’m restless, sometimes, and it bothers him that my dreams do not take him into account.”

“Cats can be fickle creatures,” Tony said. “By Christmas, he may well have taken up with someone else altogether.” He slid a hinge pin into place and locked it so it wouldn’t come loose, and then sat back. “How are you doing? Not too much pain, I hope?”

“It’s-- quite soothing, actually,” Bucky said, turning to look at Tony. “Having you working on it. Better. Much better.”

“Good, I’m glad.” Tony tried not to think too much about how close they were -- a necessity of the task, nothing more -- or how bright Bucky’s eyes were when he smiled. “Only a little more, and we’ll be done.” He leaned back to stretch a little, working cramps out of his fingers and arms, and then pulled the next piece into proper alignment. “I had some ideas, while I was building the schematics, of possible improvements. Ways to make it more efficient. Lighter. More smooth in its movement.”

“I--” Bucky stopped, then. “Uh, that would be-- if it’s not too much trouble, of course. I don’t want to impose, this was more than I expected. But yes, if… if we can rebuild it, something… different. Not so much them, their make-- I. Yes, I would like that.”

Tony grinned. “Wonderful! I’ll jot down some notes, refine them a bit, and then let you know what I think is possible, what I think will be worth the time and effort, and what it’s all going to cost, so you can decide where you’d like to start.”

“Certainly,” Bucky said. When Tony finally put his tools down, Bucky flexed his shoulder, moving in such a manner as to activate the tiny pulleys and gears inside the arm. It made soft, mechanical sounds as it shifted, somehow reminiscent of Bucky’s own voice, although that should not even have been possible. But it moved. The elbow bent and unbent, the wrist twisted, the fingers extended and then clamped closed. “You’re a miracle-worker.”

“Hardly a miracle,” Tony protested. “Just following the path laid out before me.” He couldn’t stop watching it, though. The miracle was in the way it moved, almost as naturally as if it were part of Bucky’s original body. He’d imagined its motion in theory as he studied the mechanics, but it was a wholly different experience to see it, living -- as it were -- in front of him.

“It took a bit to train me up to be able to use it,” Bucky said. “But this is… smoother, somehow. You’ve done very well.”

Tony felt like he was glowing inside from the praise. “Glad to be of service.”

“I only say what I see,” Bucky said. He stood and carefully pulled his shirt back on, being certain not to snag the arm on any of the seams, then put that metal hand on Tony’s shoulder and gave a light squeeze. It was heavy, to be sure, but there was something wonderful about being touched that way, by something that Tony himself had aided in the repair of. “I’m grateful.”

“You’re most welcome,” Tony said, since it didn’t seem that Bucky was going to let him brush off the gratitude. “I quite enjoyed the project, to be honest.” He wasn’t entirely certain, actually, what he’d do now that it was done.

“Consider the workshop yours, if you like, for whatever projects you envision,” Bucky told him. 

Tony felt his eyes stretch. “Really? I mean. That’s very generous of you. Your lordship.” He hadn’t actually given Bucky a title the whole morning, he only now realized.

“You’ll be the only inventor with a rich patron who does not expect you to churn out new farming equipment or weapons. Or, you can, but only if you wish to.”

Tony laughed, somewhat disbelievingly. “What good is an inventor who doesn’t improve your tenant’s yields and increase your coffers?” He grinned at Bucky to show it was a joke. Except for how it kind of wasn’t.

“I will rely on you to show me,” Bucky said. 

***

The night before, Bucky had told the children they’d have the day off from classwork, as he required Tony’s presence for an outing. “The good vicar,” he had said, “has agreed to a meeting, in which we will discuss the events of the previous month.”

“Without the judge?” Tony was surprised, but he put on his best clothes and mashed his unruly hair into something approaching respectability.

“I rather expect he’s going to shake me down for a sizable bribe and a promise that it won’t happen again,” Bucky said, tugging his sleeve down over the metal wrist and drawing on a pair of gloves. His left hand still didn’t look precisely right, but if one wasn’t paying attention, it was possible that it would escape notice. “In exchange for claiming a misunderstanding, and not filing a charge.”

“Ah, yes, I know the type. But you may get off cheaper than if you let the judge set a fine,” Tony admitted. “RJ made no attempt at denying his guilt.”

“I expect not.” Bucky said. “If he had the means, I expect he’d have announced it in the local papers. But it will now have occurred to the vicar what Richard might _say_ , should they make him take his day in court. What everyone _knows_ , and what all are allowed to acknowledge publicly are very different things, and they do not expect Richard to follow their rules.”

“With good reason, it seems. Will you allow the vicar to make his deal, then?”

“It is what I need you for,” Bucky said, “among many other reasons. I am… not good at this sort of delicate task. I prefer to either throw money at the problem in the hopes that it will go away. Or--” the prosthetic hand made an unpleasant grinding sound, “I’ve been known to punch problems until they stop screaming. In either case, it is probably not the best solution.”

Tony was more familiar than he’d like to admit with throwing money at his problems, though he’d grown up watching his father’s negotiations. “Additional punching is definitely not a viable solution,” Tony agreed. “I’ll do my best for you -- but you must tell me what _your_ goal actually is.”

“My goal is to tread the very fine line between ending the situation in an agreeable fashion, which is to say, without my son going to prison and ending up in a work camp, and allowing the vicar to think I am the sort of man who can be intimidated. I’ve no wish to turn into a second source of income for him. A whore, you might say, of an entirely different sort.”

Tony laughed a little. “A fine line, indeed. I’ll try to keep us balanced on it.”

“And if not, I may resort to a little bit of punching.”

Tony shot him an amused look. “Try to avoid that. The judge will come eventually.”

“It’s better than the old Boyar would do,” Bucky said, darkly. “And I will, I swear to you, punch anyone who tries to raise a horsewhip to that boy.”

“For that, I’ll stand out of your way,” Tony agreed. “There’s just punishment, but that’s not it. You’re better than the old Boyar, though. It’s one of the advantages to taking up your inheritance and titles -- the chance to do better than your forebears.”

“There are two types of men who’ve taken a beating; the ones who wish nothing more than to wield the whip in their own turn, and those who say _never one of mine_.” Bucky twitched his jaw a little. “My father beat me, once, for disobedience. It did not teach me to mind.”

“We are of an accord on that,” Tony assured him. “Pain and fear teach nothing more than fear and pain.”

Bucky took a deep breath. “Let’s be on our way, then, and see if the vicar is prone to being reasonable.”

The carriage was a thing of beauty and efficiency, well sprung, with thick, padded seats and a heat-box on the floor. “I don’t always travel by carriage. There are many places where the roads are all but impassable for anything on wheels, but, when I do.” Bucky handed Tony into the carriage and climbed in himself after.

Tony settled into the bench seat, soft and plush. “Oh, this is _lovely_. I shall be spoiled for all future travel.”

Bucky’s cheeks were a little dark and he couldn’t quite seem to look directly at Tony. He thumped the ceiling panel with his walking stick and the carriage pulled away, leaving the castle retreating in the distance until it was a mere speck on the horizon. Bucky braced one boot against a raised beam on the floor. “The first half hour will be a little less comfortable than most,” he said, and as they headed down the mountain, it was apparent why-- the way had been stiff and uncomfortable for Tony headed uphill, with gravity pressing him into the seat, but _downhill_ was so much worse. If the carriage hit a bad bump, it was easy to imagine himself tumbling right off the bench.

Into Bucky, on the opposite side.

Tony braced his foot on the beam as well. He didn’t want to end up in Bucky’s lap. Or, more precisely, he wanted it rather too much. “You may need to invest in having the road regraded, come spring,” he suggested.

“That might encourage visitors,” Bucky said, with mock distaste. 

Tony rolled his eyes, amused. “If the road gets much worse, deliveries won’t be able to make it up to the castle.”

“Perhaps,” Bucky said with a sigh. “Road projects are the _worst_.”

They hit a particularly bad bump and Tony had to brace his hand on the wall to keep from tumbling out of his seat. “I wonder if I could create something to make that easier,” he mused.

“You are more than welcome to try it,” Bucky said, encouragingly. “Make something that works well enough, and we’ll become rich, doing paving projects all over this god-forsaken country. My mother used to say that God particularly loved rocks and poor people, which is why there are so many of both in Romania.”

Tony smiled. “She sounds like a clever woman.”

“She is much missed,” Bucky said. 

The wheels hit another rut, rocking the entire carriage like a cradle and Tony found himself pitched against his will across the small space. Bucky caught him, which was somewhat less comfortable than it might have been-- useful as the prosthetic was, it was still made from metal and therefore not much better than landing on the floor or banging himself on a countertop.

“I’ve got you--” Bucky said, and then he looked at Tony and inhaled, eyes going wide and dark.

“Bucky...” Tony couldn’t look away, couldn’t pull himself free. He licked his lips and watched Bucky’s eyes dart down to follow the motion. “Bu-- Your lordship. We. We can’t...”

“I know, _dammit_ ,” Bucky all but growled. “Doesn’t mean I don’t--” He heaved a sigh and pushed Tony onto the bench next to him. “Sit here, it’s easier if you’re not fighting gravity, too.”

Tony swallowed hard and accepted that as wisdom. He pushed back onto the bench, letting himself feel the firm press of Bucky’s leg against his own. Almost, he wanted to apologize -- but for what? Neither of them was at fault for the twist of circumstance that had landed them here. “It’s... difficult,” he admitted softly.

Bucky leaned his head back, closing his eyes. The muscles in his throat worked a few times. “It is… rather trying. I find myself thinking, there must be-- but I would not do you the dishonor, nor expect it from you.”

Because Bucky was a good man, a man of honor and principle. Which, of course, only made Tony want him more. “I confess to similar thoughts, but... so far I have not found a satisfactory solution.” Not for Tony as he was now, disinherited and all but penniless. “Perhaps it will fade, with time.”

“I-- wish to confess that I hope it will not,” Bucky said, still not looking at Tony. “A fancy, perhaps. It doesn’t matter, I suppose.”

Tony looked away as well, out the window at the passing mountainside. “It matters. If only to me.”

“A precious memory,” Bucky agreed. 

The rest of the journey into the village passed in silence, but it was not the silence of nothing to say, but one of too much that dared not be said. He was utterly aware of Bucky’s thigh, pressed against his own, of every breath the man took and every time he shifted in his seat.

There was something bittersweet about it, that silent understanding of things that could not be.

A precious memory, indeed.

When Tony saw the village from the carriage window, he made himself straighten in place and shake off the soft melancholy. “Tell me of the vicar. I know only that he is venal and greedy.”

“He’s much the same as clergy everywhere. Appointed to his position and rather lacking in actual piety. The comforts of his current situation have given him less satisfaction than he supposed, leading him to other employment. I don’t know how he came to hold the rents for the bordello. He thinks of himself as very smart, and very charming, and very handsome. Flattery appeals to him. He’s a terrible hand at cards, but can’t seem to resist a gamble.”

“Ah, that’s good to know,” Tony mused. “Perhaps we can turn that to our advantage.”

“He’s the youngest son of a petty lord,” Bucky went on, “and rather, I believe, hoped that an heir and spare wouldn’t be enough. Alas, his older brother went on to have three healthy sons, and the second son has a son of his own, as well. So, too many people stand between him and the title. He tends to both envy and despise me for his own ambitions. His given name is Aldrich Killian, but he prefers to be addressed as Father for reasons that make my skin crawl if I think too much on it.”

“Killian,” Tony mused. “Well, we shall see. I will do all I can to keep everything balanced.”

“I’m certain you shall.”


	9. Chapter 9

Despite everything Tony had heard, the vicar, Father Killian, looked very much like a member of the clergy, dark and decor-less clothing, a severe but handsome face. He had long fingers and hair the color of antique bronze, tied back neatly away from sharp cheekbones and a long, angular nose.

Tony did, however, notice that the good vicar had a number of servants, more than really seemed called for, given the size of his dwelling -- about average for a clergyman of his station -- and that they were all rather pretty.

“Come in, Lord Barnes,” he greeted them, leading them into a parlor with rich velvet chairs and a thick, beautiful rug. “It’s so good of you to call.”

Bucky sat down gingerly on one of the chairs, as if doubting that the spindly little thing would hold up his weight. “Of course, I’d respond to your invitation. May I introduce my companion, Mr. Anthony Stark. He’s currently serving as the caretaker of my children, overseeing their education and training, to take their place in society.”

“Father Killian,” Tony said. “It’s good to meet you, after I’ve heard so much about your good works here.” And the not-so-good works, as well, but mentioning that would hardly get them where they wanted to be.

“Mr. Stark,” the vicar said, folding his fingertips together and studying Tony over the tips. “It’s good of you to come. I had hoped to make some sort of… amiable resolution to our little. Problem. There are so many demands on Judge Fury’s time; if we can find some solution ourselves, it behooves us to do so.”

“Of course,” Bucky said, and he didn’t so much as roll his eyes, or tip his mouth, or even give Tony a sly glance. He was the very model of decorum. And yet, Tony could almost feel the contempt radiating off Bucky. “We’re as eager as you to resolve the situation. And hope that you feel charitably inclined; the boy’s lost so much and this is still an unfamiliar place and difficult custom for him.”

“Children,” Killian said, “should obey their parents, as this is most pleasing to the Lord. The boy treads the line very close, and if he is not careful, it is not my condemnation, nor Fury’s that should concern you, but Hell itself which awaits.”

“We’re trying to teach him gentler ways,” Tony put in. “I feel he’s making progress, though indisputably an incomplete task. He has yet to be convinced that there are benefits in good behavior for him, as well as for the rest of us. But I have faith that we’ll get there.”

“They do say that he who loves his son does not spare the rod,” Killian said, almost too gently, and eager in his very gentleness. “The boy could use a reminder, I believe.”

Bucky’s mouth twisted into a smile that looked nothing like his normal easy grin. “I understand your feelings on this matter. Rest assured, he will know that his behavior is not smiled upon. But what we wished most, on this trip, was to see to any reparations, and perhaps, to increase good will between us, as adults.”

“Do you believe the boy can be reformed?”

“Mr. Stark has had the most amount of time spent with Richard, in the recent past,” Bucky said. “I’ve been away, and it is well known that children sometimes are a bit restless, in the presence of those not their parents. What would you say, Mr. Stark? Do you believe Richard has improved in temper?”

“A great deal, since my arrival,” Tony said readily. “He’s full of fear and anger, it is clear, but I hardly think these things render him irredeemable. The Lord offers hope to even the most base of creatures, does He not?” It had been years since Tony had regularly attended church, but he knew well how to talk. “I am confident that he can learn to choose an upright path.”

“Indeed, the Lord is most merciful,” Killian agreed. “Very well, then, I shall test this theory. In three weeks, there is to be a village gathering, dance and socializing and cards. I find myself most eager to attend, and would like to extend to you invitations. Should young master Richard prove himself calm, tranquil, and all things charming at the dance, I would be willing to allow the boy another opportunity, and withhold my case from the judge. Some small donation toward the church would not go amiss, either.”

Tony had to suppress a groan of despair. RJ had no love whatsoever for the delicate business of socializing. Three weeks was barely time enough to convince him to shave, much less coach him on the finer points of conversation.

“That’s very gracious of you,” Bucky said. “We’d be delighted to attend.”

“Then we will consider this a successful meeting, Lord Barnes,” the vicar said, standing up. “I shall expect to see you, then, at church, this Sunday.”

“We will do our best,” Bucky said, not quite groaning, but it was more obvious than ever that this was not something he wanted to do. “The road down from the castle is less than easy to travel.”

“If only there were laborers and funds sufficient for the repairs,” Tony lamented. “You could levy a tax,” he suggested. “Particularly on the taverns and other such places of... temptation, to remind the village that their thoughts should be on God, and not their own pleasures.”

Bucky didn’t quite smile. “That might be a good plan,” he said. “I had not thought of it, thinking that the road served mainly none but myself, and I shouldn’t put the villagers out, but perhaps you’re correct. Would you agree, Father?”

“No need to be hasty in a decision of that magnitude,” Killian said. “Of course we can excuse you from your religious duties, my lord. I had not realized the road was in such poor shape as all that. Spring would be a much better time to consider an increase, since work could not begin until then, at any rate.”

“You have a fair point, Father,” Tony conceded, quashing the urge to grin like the devil. “We shall have to devote some time this winter to studying the repairs to be made and their cost, so we can accurately assess how to raise the needed coin.”

Bucky left a small fold of mixed bills and coin, making a point of placing it not in the church’s coffers, but on the table in the vicar’s hall. “We thank you for the gift of your time.”

And ushered Tony out, before anything else could be said.

Tony somehow managed to contain his laughter until they were in the carriage and well away from the vicar’s house. “His face,” he gasped.

“He thought he was safe, behind his show of piety,” Bucky remarked, grinning at Tony. “But he realizes now we have leverage of our own.”

“Indeed. Though...” Tony sobered. “Teaching RJ how to act something like a gentleman in three weeks is a tall order. He was rather adamant that he did not intend to accept instruction in dancing.”

“I guess we’ll have to find out what motivates him,” Bucky said. “Because consequences like the mines and workfarms are not going to inspire him. He feels like his need to appear unafraid is greater than his need to be sensible. He hasn’t yet learned that fear isn’t the worst evil.”

Tony nodded. “I’m sure we’ll figure something out.” He looked out the window, considering the matter.

“You did quite well,” Bucky said. “I appreciate your support in these matters.”

“You flatter me,” Tony returned. “But I thank you for the kindness.” He glanced at Bucky sidelong. “And -- terrible roads or not -- it’s been nice to get out of the castle.”

“If there’s aught you need, in the way of supplies or niceties, now’s the time to say. I’d be happy to provide for some shopping in the market, if you wish it.”

“A turn through the market would be nice,” Tony admitted, and he shot Bucky a somewhat rueful smile. “If only to put off the punishment the return trip is certain to inflict on my seat.”

“First thing I shall buy you, then, is an additional cushion,” Bucky said.

Tony laughed. “I should protest that it’s hardly necessary, but might actually be.” He grinned, and considered. “And some woolen socks, perhaps, if such a thing can be found. It’s colder here than at home.”

“Anything that is within my power to provide,” Bucky said, and then looked Tony over a little critically. “Including clothing. If I have to go to a ball, _you_ have to go to the ball.”

* * *

Convincing RJ to attend lessons in gentlemanly comportment had turned out to be easier than Tony had expected. All he’d had to do was bring up the dance over dinner. RJ had, predictably, sneered, and Tony had given him a small, sad smile. “You’re invited, of course, but I don’t know if you should be allowed. The vicar thinks you’re not capable of behaving yourself properly, and... Well, much as I hate to agree with him, you’ve certainly shown no desire whatsoever to improve yourself in that direction. You’d only make things awkward and difficult for everyone, including yourself.”

RJ had insisted that he could do anything he actually set his mind to, including act like a noble ass, and Tony had challenged him to prove it.

And so here they were, in a wide, cleared-out space, learning to dance.

“You are very stiff,” the dance master said. “You must wish, very much, to be with your partner. At this moment, she is all that you wish to please.”

“Hard to do,” RJ snapped, “when I’m dancing with a man who wears a wig.”

“You know how to pretend,” Tony reminded him. “Use it. Imagine that it’s not the dancing master, but someone whose admiration you care about.”

“I’m not looking for the admiration of Master Cake-baker’s daughter,” RJ said, blowing hair out of his face and trodding on the dance master’s feet at the same time.

“Whose admiration _are_ you looking for, then?” Tony wondered. “The only one you’re going to impress like that is the bonesetter.” He walked in a wide circle around them. “Your muscles are all stiff, like you expect the dance to suddenly turn into a race or a fight. Relax.” He tapped on the master’s shoulder. “I’ll play the partner for a turn,” he suggested, “so you can step back and see the whole.” And rest those poor, abused feet.

“Very well, sir,” the dance master said, and Tony did not fail to notice his look of relief.

“Great,” RJ said, scowling, “now I have to pretend I want your admiration, as if I didn’t already think dancing with you is going to turn into a fight.”

“You needn’t pretend to want my admiration,” Tony assured him. “If you like, you may pretend that you want excellent marks on this lesson.” He smiled a little as he placed his hands. “And you at least _know_ me,” he allowed. “It can help.”

RJ grumbled, but took Tony's hand, drawing him into the proper position. The various reels and quadrilles were easy enough, especially if RJ wasn't the leading pair. Which, given his rank, he would likely never be. He would be low enough that he would have plenty of time to see the steps.

But the waltz was considered both very daring and the mainstay of society courtship.

Not knowing the waltz was tantamount to social suicide. 

The dancing master counted off the beats. RJ hesitated, then stepped in on the wrong beat, and they stumbled to a stop, then started over. This time RJ got it right, and they began to move around the floor. “Look at me,” Tony murmured. “Staring at your feet won’t help.”

“I’m gonna step on you if I do that,” RJ threatened.

Tony smiled. “No, you won’t. You’re not clumsy. And if you do, it won’t be the end of the world. Or even the end of the dance.”

“They’re your toes,” RJ said, flatly. But he managed to drag his gaze up, and if he did not look directly into Tony’s face, he did look just over Tony’s shoulder. 

“Listen to the music,” the dance master said, clapping his hands sharply in time. “One, two, three, one, two, three. Step, and step, and turn your partner. Indicate which way you want the young lady -- or gentleman -- to move with the hand that rests on your partner’s hip, if you would demonstrate, Mr. Stark?”

“Certainly.” Tony dropped his hand to cover RJ’s. “If you move like this--” He applied slight pressure, pressing RJ’s hand against his hip. “--then we turn this way.” He pulled RJ around, more or less by main force. “And if you move it _this_ way, then we turn... so. The angle of the hand is an echo of the movement, so it shouldn’t be hard to remember. Got it?”

“Your partner is not a rowboat, young sir,” the master continued. “Grace will win out the day. There you are, one two three, one two three…”

“Much better,” Tony murmured. “You’re still stiff, though. Think of times you’ve seen others dancing, try to copy that.”

“Perhaps he needs to look at it again, from another angle,” Bucky suggested, suddenly appearing in the door of the long-forsaken ballroom. He was wearing riding boots and a tailed coat, not even the slightest bit appropriate for dancing; if Bucky stepped on Tony’s feet, it would hurt, and not just a little. 

But he crossed the floor gracefully, tucked the artificial arm behind his back and gave a very courtly bow. “If I might -- cut in?”

RJ backed away with almost comical haste. Tony shook his head, smiling, then turned to face Bucky and returned the bow, ballroom-proper, before placing his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “The dance is yours, m’lord.”

“Indeed,” Bucky said, waiting on the beat. The metal hand grasped Tony’s hip, so gently he might have thought it flesh, except for the solid weight of it. Bucky nodded to the beat of the music, then --

They were dancing. Bucky knew the steps without hesitation, moving just in time with the music, his legs brushing against Tony’s as they moved, almost breathlessly, with the song. The music, played on a Bucky’s expensive and amazing phonograph, cycled again, sounding less like a waxed reproduction, becoming almost like an orchestra, the dusty and faded ballroom seeming to come alive.

Their hands held neatly together, Bucky used his left to indicate direction, moving them in elaborate shapes around the floor, as one would at a real ball, avoiding the other couples as they danced.

Tony looked up into Bucky’s face as they moved, trusting to Bucky’s guidance to keep them from bumping into walls or other obstacles, and tried to absorb every bit of sensation -- the warmth of Bucky’s hand in his, the gentle weight of the artificial arm at his hip, the brush of their legs and the sound of their shoes on the floor. Who knew when he might ever have an excuse to find himself in Bucky’s arms like this again?

Bucky’s eyes were on his, and he could practically feel Bucky thinking the same things, wishing that things could be different between them. That they were free to dance like this whenever they wished.

The phonograph spun to a stop, and Bucky gave Tony’s fingers a very small, but meaningful squeeze before turning them to escort Tony off the floor. “This,” Bucky said, when he approached RJ again, “is how you dance.”

RJ scowled. It did seem to be his most common expression, then sighed. “May I?” he gave Tony the most sarcastic bow Tony had ever seen, offering his hand.

Tony responded, even more floridly. “My honor, sir.” He took RJ’s hand and took up the position. He glanced over RJ’s shoulder at Bucky and smiled.

RJ shook Tony’s hand, getting his attention. “You’re supposed to be looking at me, not flirting like a little bit of muslin.”

Tony laughed and refocused on RJ. “My most sincere apologies; it shan’t happen again.”

This time, RJ was much improved. Something about his competitive nature was stirred by being directly compared and found lacking. Bucky moved from point to point around the room as they danced, a continual distraction to Tony, and he did, in fact, get his foot stepped on once.

“Much better,” Tony praised when the song came to an end. “We may make a passable gentleman of you, yet.”

“Close enough, at least,” Bucky said, “that no one will notice from a trotting horse.”


	10. Chapter 10

Kobik pouted mightily when she was told she wouldn’t be able to attend the village dance. And then spent most of the day of the dance pouting. And it intensified exponentially when Bucky and Tony and RJ appeared in the hall in their fine clothes, ready to climb into the carriage.

Tony ruffled her hair. “There will be dances aplenty for you in a few years,” he promised.

“But, but… I wanna go today,” Kobik whined. “I want pretty dresses an’ an’ an’ to listen to music an’...”

“Darling,” Bucky said, going down on one knee in his absolutely beautiful crushed velvet breeches, the white stocking showing off gloriously turned calves, “I will buy you all the pretty dresses you want, if you’d care to come in to town and be still while the seamstress takes your measure.”

Kobik hesitated. “How long does it take?”

RJ, who’d recently gotten fitted up himself, waggled one hand back and forth. “Half an hour? Maybe less for you, wearing a dress. No one cares how wide your legs are.”

Kobik glared at him. “You’re not s’posed to say _wide_ when you’re talking about a lady.”

RJ snorted. “Good thing I don’t see one, then.”

“All right,” Tony said before the bickering could really get going. “We’ll see you in the morning, Kobik. Be good.”

“And if you can’t be good,” RJ called, “don’t get _caught_.”

“Enough,” Bucky said, pointing his son toward the carriage.

The ride down into the village was both better and worse than the last time; Tony was pressed along Bucky’s side the entire time, with RJ across from them. Which, while he was no less aware of Bucky’s closeness than he had been on the previous occasion, he had no opportunity whatsoever to act on it, or even have those awkward pauses where nothing was spoken and everything was _said_.

Instead, they were engaged in preparing RJ for the event. “The vicar is likely to try to get a rise out of you,” Tony warned. “Remember that you’re _better_ than that, that he doesn’t matter. On the plus side, he’s going to have to be on his own good behavior, so he won’t have an excuse to hold you back if you politely excuse yourself from a conversation.”

“If he truly didn’t matter,” RJ said, “then it wouldn’t matter what he thought. It’s all a big lie, _everyone_ lies about it. He’s a whoremonger, he--”

“Richard,” Bucky said, gently. “The world is not a fair place, but we have to live in it. There’s a time and a place for everything, and this is not the one for denouncing the vicar in a public place. Even if everyone knows it, they don’t wish to be told, and you cannot make them listen.”

Tony nodded. “The only hope you have of getting rid of him, eventually, is to get the villagers to trust you, to have reason to back your word instead of the vicar’s when an opportunity comes along.”

“The world is a hellhole because it’s never the right time,” RJ pointed out.

“That may be true,” Bucky said, a smile on his face that didn’t quite fit the situation. Like nostalgia, almost. “That said, once you are an adult and out on your own, feel free to spend as much time in prison as you like. In the meanwhile, compose yourself. Your sister would miss you, if you weren’t around.”

RJ didn’t seem to have an answer to that, and the carriage was still too bumpy for him to cross his arms over his chest and glower. “What was the point, then? Of taking us out of there, if we’re just bowing to a different master?”

“All men have masters,” Tony said reasonably. “Even kings and emperors cannot do exactly as they wish. The question is: is this master better than the one before?”

“Killian?” RJ’s voice spiraled up, unbelieving. “No, the man’s a worm, he’s vile, he’s--”

“Not worth you going to prison for,” Bucky said. “And if the town workhouse doesn’t hold you, they will, eventually, hang you. It’s your choice, but you must decide if those are consequences you are willing to endure. I for one, think it would be a waste of your life, that you die at the end of a rope.”

“Besides, Killian is not your master,” Tony said dismissively. “He holds power -- but that power is balanced by your-- by the boyar’s. They must compromise, cooperate, to achieve anything large.”

Finally, the trip was over; the village’s common ballroom was lit bright with candles and music was piping out into the streets. “For your sister, please,” Bucky said, squeezing RJ’s shoulder. “Hold your temper.”

RJ heaved a sigh. “All right, all right,” he said, shaking Bucky off. “Let’s get this farce over with.”

They waited in the line to be announced. “Here, I must introduce you to my friends,” Bucky said, as if they hadn’t already gone over the protocol a dozen times, he said it as if it was RJ’s treat to be introduced, to take his place in society. “This way, I see Mr. Dougan, come, he knows many of the young ladies and gentlemen present, an acquaintance well worth seeking out.”

Tony could practically _feel_ RJ’s intense desire to roll his eyes, but didn’t look to see whether he gave in or not, just followed along gamely.

Introductions were made to a round, jolly man with a truly hideous walrus moustache, and then Dougan took RJ in hand, to make him acquainted with the principles of the party. 

Bucky hung back a moment. “Mr. Stark,” he said, softly. “I should very much-- like-- if you would save a dance for me.”

Tony glanced at him, feeling the back of his neck heating already. “I would also like that,” he confessed. “Consider me at your disposal.”

Bucky made him known to some few people at the dance, a few young married couples, one dowager, and reminded him that he was known to Miss Carter, who should be arriving. “I must leave you now, lest too much be said,” he murmured, after leading Tony to the punch bowl. “The gaming tables are open to all, if you care for that, as well.”

“I will amuse myself,” Tony assured him with a smile. “I have been to any number of similar functions in my time; I am confident that I will escape unscathed.” He offered Bucky a brief bow, and turned away so he wouldn’t be tempted to mournfully watch Bucky’s retreat. He made his way into the crush, looking for someone he’d been introduced to, either to widen his circle of introductions or to find a dance partner. If he were to dance with Bucky, then he must necessarily be seen dancing with others, to prevent too much wagging of tongues.

The wallflowers had proved a good crop to become acquainted with; lacking a partner because they were neither rich enough, nor beautiful enough to make the first rounds, so early into the evening, they were all too eager to get away from the wall, and take a dance with a good looking man, even if he had no fortune whatsoever.

Indeed, he danced twice with one extremely merry girl who confessed brightly and immediately that she meant to use Tony’s attention to raise the attention and ire of her beau, who had been neglecting her lately. He’d laughed and kissed her hand when he brought her back to the wall, and later noticed her dancing rather closely with a thin young man who kept shooting dark looks in Tony’s direction.

Some few dances in, and Tony found himself alongside Sharon Carter for a quadrille, who, upon the dance ending, turned to him and said, “My cousin tells me that I am required to dance with you.”

Tony chuckled. “He feels responsible for my amusement, having insisted on my attending, I suppose. I’m more than satisfied, if you’d prefer not. But it should be an honor to take you around the floor.”

“And mine, as well,” Miss Carter said. “He was a meddler when we were children, and he’s a meddler now. Always of the opinion that people were better off when they let him take care of them.”

“Well, it’s good to know it’s work he enjoys,” Tony said, amused, and offered her his arm. “Shall we, then?”

“Of course,” Miss Carter said. “It’s been circulated that we’d met, in any case. If I didn’t dance with you, it might look as though I don’t hold you in esteem.”

“Well, not everyone does,” Tony said philosophically, even as he led her in the steps of the dance. “But I’m overjoyed to know you’ve no need to snub me. At least, not yet.” He grinned.

“As long as you don’t tear my dress by trodding on it, or tell me my eyes are _cerulean orbs_ , we’ll get on just fine,” Miss Carter said.

“Oh dear,” Tony laughed, “that sounds like a tale that I simply must hear.” He glanced quickly around the room, noting RJ in the corner in what seemed to be earnest conversation with a young couple, and Bucky dancing with a spritely matron. He turned his attention back to Miss Carter. “Do tell me who was tasteless enough to say such a thing.”

Sharon regaled him with the story of her current suitor, whom she had refused more than once now, but who kept believing that she was shy and retiring and didn’t really mean it when she said no. “James has talked about scaring him off, but honestly, I think that would only make him more determined. At least if I’m the one saying no, he won’t think I’d say yes if it wasn’t for my terrifying cousin,” she said. “And eventually, I’ll say yes to someone else. At this rate, _anyone_ else.”

“I’m sure you will not lack for more agreeable suitors, if the word were to spread that you were amenable to them,” Tony said, still laughing.

“Perhaps,” she said. “I’m afraid I like getting my own way too much for the local gentlemen, who prefer a more… pliant young lady.”

“Their loss,” Tony said dismissively. “A partner who knows what they want and how to go about getting it makes for a much more equitable marriage, in my observation. One’s partner should share your burdens, not add to them.”

“That sounds delightful,” Miss Carter said. “When you find such a paragon, do let me know.” They made one more set through the line, and the music came to an end.

Tony bowed. “Thank you for the favor of your arm, Miss Carter.”

“You’re very welcome,” she said. “And now I am going to flee for the relative safety of the card room, as I see him coming this way now and I do not wish to waltz with him. Nor can I dance two with you without engaging speculation. Thank you for the reprieve.”

Tony chuckled. “Your servant. Quickly, make your escape.” He watched her go, skirts swishing, and then listened to the strains of the waltz beginning. He wondered if this might be when Bucky would claim his promised dance and turned, half-expecting to see Bucky already closing the space between them -- but no.

Tony turned again, scanning the room, and finally found Bucky, already on the dance floor, with Miss Romanoff in his arms. “Ah,” he breathed, and barely knew what he even meant by it.

Miss Romanoff was dressed in a scandalous red gown, the back cut low enough to see the dip in her spine, showing off a fine expanse of pale skin. Her hair was piled onto her head, a few curls artfully coiling down her throat, drawing attention to the daring cut of her gown. She looked up at Bucky with wide, green eyes that Tony could see were sparkling, even across the ball room.

_You must wish, very much, to be with your partner. At this moment, she is all that you wish to please._

Tony watched them for a moment, trying to quash the stirrings of jealousy in his chest. He and Bucky had agreed that no more could come of their attraction; Bucky was certainly entitled -- indeed, some might say obligated -- to find a suitable partner. There was no reason at all for Tony to feel hurt or ignored or-- Any of the other nonsensical things that were swimming through his thoughts.

There would be other dances, later in the evening, after all, and Tony could only have one.

Still, he had no wish to watch this one. He turned on his heel and followed Miss Carter’s path, going in search of the card room, where everything would be numbers and probabilities and logical progressions, with none of these inconvenient feelings getting in the way.

The card room was thick with smoke, and tense with anticipation, as one corner held a cutthroat game of Vignt-Un and the other housed a rousingly noisy game of Lottery tickets, where young ladies were exclaiming over fish that they won and fish that they lost. Two other tables hosted whist.

RJ was, not surprisingly, at the Vignt-Un table, staring at his cards as if he could will luck to him. He had a cigar in his hand, but he hadn’t lit it, biting down on the end from time to time.

Tony watched the game for a time, running the calculations in his head, and then slid into a seat as it was vacated by a grumbling elder.

The play went smooth for several hands; RJ wasn’t lucky, but he wasn’t brave, either, calling for stays more often than extra cards. He took one with a seventeen, then lost several running. He didn’t look at Tony, or any of the other players, saving his gaze for the young lady who was dealing. The innkeeper’s daughter, Tony thought he’d heard her introduced, who smiled at everyone in a chipper manner and dealt cards like a professional.

She was, in fact, rather pretty, and only a few years younger than Tony, bridging the gap between himself and RJ.

Almost, _almost_ , Tony considered a little light flirtation, just to tweak RJ’s sensibilities, but they’d spent so long trying to polish the boy’s manners and convince him to suppress his temper that it would be quite ill-done of him to press that barely-held control. So he only smiled genially and confined his conversation to the cards. A couple of hands in, he looked around the room curiously. “I haven’t seen the vicar all evening,” he observed. “I thought he’d be here.”

The dealer -- Miss Pryde, Tony recalled finally -- gave him a quick, sharp look. “He is playing, I believe, at the high tables. If you’ve the means to enter the games there, sir, I’d be delighted to provide you the direction?”

RJ, who had been watching Tony curiously during the exchange, raised his chin, and then tipped his head, as if asking Tony a question with his eyes.

Tony considered the state of his thin pocketbook, and then nodded. “I may have sufficient funds for a game or two,” he allowed.

Miss Pryde gestured gracefully with one hand, indicating the direction. “Three doors down, with the town crest over the door, you’ll find more serious entertainment, then.”

“One moment, Miss Pryde, if you’ll keep my seat warm for me,” RJ said, and then went to Tony’s side. 

“You’re going to play against Father Killian?”

“Well, I might,” Tony said. “It depends what game he’s in, and whether I like my chances. I’m not so well-off that I can squander my coin without any hope of regaining it.”

“I wish you luck,” RJ said, and he offered Tony a hand to shake. Somewhat surprised at the gesture, Tony took it, only to have RJ press a handful of somewhat tattered paper lei into his hand. “Consider it-- a partial repayment of debts owed.”

Tony’s eyebrow went up, but he nodded. “Very well. You will no doubt hear of the outcome before I have even left the room.” He smiled a little, nodded politely to Miss Pryde and the other players, and took his leave, going in search of the high tables.

That room was very quiet, barely a sound over the flick of cards and the low-voiced murmurs of wagers. It was no less smoky, and the decanters on the sideboard were well stocked with shimmering amber whiskey, bourbon and rum, rather than wine or ratifa.

“Schoolteacher,” the vicar greeted him cheerfully enough as he came in.

“Father Killian,” Tony returned pleasantly enough. He stepped up to the table. “What are you playing? I thought I might try my hand, if it’s something I’m familiar with.”

“Merely Faro at the moment,” Killian said, gesturing to an empty seat. “Feel free to join, if you wish it.”

“I’ll play one turn,” Tony allowed, “but then I think I’ll go in search of something a little more intellectually stimulating.” He slid into the empty seat, winced inwardly at the buy-in, and laid lei on the table.

“You don’t find our simple country amusements to your liking, Mr. Stark?” Killian asked, He made quick introductions around the table. Lords Hammer and Vanko gave him a rough nod. The others, a Mr. Stern, and a Madam Frost barely looked up. “It is only that there were an uneven number of us that something more rousing -- challenging, as you would -- like piquet, was not on offer.”

“Ah, now piquet’s a game that takes skill,” Tony said warmly. “I’ll happily sit to a hand or two of that, when this table’s run out.”

Faro was, in fact, nothing more than a game of chance, and one that generally involved a lot of cheating, from both players and bank. It wasn’t much different from roulette, except it didn’t require a wheel, whose results could be easily skewed in favor of the house, and was an expense that many private homes did not bother with.

A hand of Faro later, and Tony had barely managed to hold on to his opening stake.

But piquet, that was a game where his math-oriented mind, his speed to calculate remaining cards, and a good memory was crucial.

And it played between partners, which meant that soon enough, Tony was ensconced in one chair, the vicar across from him, and the rumor going around. The high stakes room grew crowded with onlookers.

Tony pushed them from his mind, focusing entirely on the cards in his hand, the way they fell from the deck. The slow tap of Father Killian’s fingers against the edge of the cards, and the hum of probability between his ears.

Killian exchanged idle conversation, addressed a few pointed questions at Tony that let him know the vicar had _asked around_ about him, without making any actual accusation. Commented to his friends. Played.

The lei moved back and forth across the table; luck was not on Tony’s side. But piquet wasn’t a game of luck, but of diminishing possibilities.

The lei moved back to his side, the vicar’s pile grew smaller.

The room filled, and gossip was flying backward down the hall.

The probabilities shifted subtly, and Tony calculated madly as he made his exchanges and chose his discards. He didn’t bother tallying the points for the game; that was being done by the bystanders. He let his thoughts skate over the reported tallys to satisfy himself they were correct, and then forgot them immediately, already considering his options for the next trick.

The vicar’s idle chatter slowed and then came to a halt as he played, sweat gathering at his temples. He hesitated, eyes flickering nervously up to look at Tony, then back at the cards. 

He turned his final card.

A broken run.

“Shall we see, then?” he asked Tony, indicating his line of play.

Tony turned over his last card, watching the vicar’s face as he exposed the perfect run he’d been building.

Killian’s mouth wobbled slightly, before he put his smile in place. “Very well done, schoolteacher,” he said, pushing the pile of paper and coins across the table. “Perhaps, next time we meet, you might be willing to sit to a rematch?”

“Perhaps,” Tony said cheerfully. “A schoolteacher’s draw doesn’t allow this sort of thing very often. A rare treat.” He gathered up the lei, carefully straightening the paper bills, and dropped a few into the palm of the attending scorekeeper. “And, of course, the chaplain of my youth held that gambling was a sin, so I’m not much in the way of it.”

He smiled blandly, bowed, and slipped into the crowd before the vicar could respond.

RJ met him, not too far outside the room. He didn’t say anything, but he shook Tony’s hand twice, his grip firm and he patted Tony’s arm before heading off in another direction. Which might have been as close to an apology from the boy as Tony was likely to get.

Tony watched him go, somewhat bemused, then turned back toward the ballroom. He needed a glass of punch, after such an intense performance.

The floor was still crowded with dancers, and the refreshment tables had been well picked over. Tony took a cup of punch and a small plate of biscuits, looking for an empty chair to partake of his spoils.

Along the side, Bucky sat, watching the dancers idly, the chair next to him was unoccupied.

Tony headed that way, drawn like a magnet to the man’s beauty and charisma. “Your lordship.”

“Mr. Stark,” Bucky said, giving Tony a deep nod. “I’d wondered where you’d disappeared to, and then lady rumor made her rounds.”

“I hope she spoke well of me,” Tony said lightly. He perched on the edge of the free chair and sipped at the punch, even if what he wanted to do was gulp it down. “Were you looking for me?”

“I was,” Bucky said, lightly. “I believe you still owe me a dance, and I should be remiss if I didn’t collect it.”

“Never let it be said that I failed to pay all that I owe, or that I have broken a promise,” Tony agreed. “Should you like the next turn, then?”

“If you’re not otherwise engaged,” Bucky said, looking back at the dancing figures, the fingers on his left hand absently moving in time. The click of each joint was soft, and somehow soothing.

“My dance card is clear; I am entirely at your lordship’s disposal.” Tony finished the rest of his punch and set the cup aside. “Much to my delight.”

“Yes,” Bucky said, his voice a low purr. “You are… entirely. At my disposal.” He stood as the music paused and offered Tony his hand. “If you would be so kind?”

Tony placed his hand in Bucky’s and allowed himself to be drawn to his feet. “It would be my pleasure.”

The musicians raised their instruments, and Bucky turned Tony into the steps of the dance, not close enough for tongues to wag or eyebrows to be lifted, but just a trifle closer than might be considered _entirely_ proper. And as the music played and dozens of other couples moved around them, it was almost exactly like -- and nothing like -- their dance before. The world fell away, and there was nothing at all left in it, except that Bucky held his hand and kept him grounded. Those blue-grey eyes watched him, never leaving his face, as they danced.

“I never know,” Bucky said, “what to say to you. I would ask of your interests and be ensnared, listening all night if you chose to speak that long. What-- what do you miss, about your home city? You’ve had no letters.”

“Those are two different questions, your lordship,” Tony said, letting a hint of teasing singsong into his tone. “ _What_ I miss, and _whom_ I miss, are very different things, indeed. I miss...” He looked over Bucky’s shoulder for a moment, unable to think of the place he had once called _home_ while looking into Bucky’s eyes. “There was a park, not far from my house, where I often sat to watch people go by -- strolling lovers and racing children and hurried men of business. It was a good place to sit and think, to let the knots of my mind relax and unravel and -- sometimes -- reassemble themselves into something like sense.” He looked back at Bucky, smiling ruefully. “Sometimes not. But it was a pretty place, nonetheless.”

“I admit, the castle has somewhat limited opportunities for people-watching,” Bucky said. “Unless you take delight in watching Kobik run from the classroom to the library to the courtyard and back.”

Tony laughed softly. “There’s some appeal in that view,” he said, “but not much variation. But they keep me too busy to miss it, much.”

“I do appreciate that,” Bucky said. “Letting them remain in your care gives me time and attention for other projects, but I hope they’re not too arduous. I should hate for them to wear you out and leave nothing behind.”

“Some days are more arduous than others. But they’re good children. Yes, even RJ. He’s confused and lost, I think, but not truly meanspirited. I have faith he’ll gentle, with time.” Tony cocked his head. “And what projects hold your attention, while I chase after your children, dare I wonder?”

“It’s too soon to say, yet,” Bucky said, “but I hope, in time, to be able to add yet another member to the household.”

Well, that was what Tony got for prying, he supposed. He thought of Bucky dancing with Miss Romanoff and wondered if that were Bucky’s _project_. Courting, he supposed, might be considered a project. “I wish you much luck,” he murmured, and shook off the brief wistfulness. “Tell me your favorite thing about the castle.”

“It has very thick walls,” Bucky said. “Four hundred years of bloody Romanian history, and it was never taken. And it’s mine, and there, I answer to no one but my own will and wishes. And, I admit, it’s had some charming views most recently.”

“Only recently?” Tony wondered. “How long have you had the children with you there?”

“Long enough for them to run off a brace of tutors and four governesses,” Bucky said with a laugh. “You seem made of sterner stuff, perhaps you’ll continue on with us long enough for some of your lessons to stick.”

Tony smiled fondly. “Kobik reminds me of myself, a little,” he admitted. “She needs encouragement to stretch, not rote lessons and handwork.”

“Well, that explains it, then,” Bucky said. “You two are very much alike, I think. And I feel--”

But whatever he was going to say, the music came to a final flourish and then, Bucky was bowing over Tony’s hand. “Thank you for the dance, Mr. Stark.”

“It was my great pleasure,” Tony assured him, letting Bucky’s hand slide from his reluctantly. “Perhaps we’ll have the chance to do it again, sometime.”

“I count the moments,” Bucky said.


	11. Chapter 11

When they’d returned from the village, Tony went first to the bathing room to splash some water on his face and use the lavatory, and then made his way back to his rooms, carefully shedding the layers of his new suit as he went.

Yawning, he didn’t bother lighting the lamp once he’d reached his destination. Navigating by feel and the faintest glimmer of moonlight trickling through a gap in the curtains, he finished undressing, pulled on his robe against the chill, and went to the bed.

Tony and Alpine had, over the last weeks, come to something of an understanding about Tony’s bed. When Tony was in it, the cat was welcome to sleep next to Tony’s head, or by his feet, or even curl into the crook of his knees -- but the center of the bed was only ceded to Alpine during the day.

Truth, Tony found the creature comforting, the soft fur and warm rumble of purring under his hand an excellent way to lull himself to sleep.

“All right, it’s my turn,” Tony told the cat. He turned down the counterpane and then reached to gently push the cat out of the middle of the bed and--

Something cold and limp flopped under his hand.

Tony swore, leaping back. “What the devil--” He fumbled for the matches he kept in a jar on his top shelf and struck one, inching back to look.

In the center of the bed was a very, very dead bird.

The match burned down to Tony’s fingers and he cursed again. Lit another one and finally fumbled around enough to get his lamp glowing.

While Tony was still blinking at the dead bird, Alpine jumped up onto the bed from the far side, letting out an unmistakably pleased chirrup. He strutted across the mattress to strop himself against Tony’s leg. _I am a mighty hunter,_ Alpine seemed to be saying, _and I have provided you with sustenance!_

Tony sighed and absently scratched Alpine’s ears. At least it wasn’t a rat, diseased and infested with fleas, he supposed. “Yes, all right, you’ve proven your worth and your regard for me,” he told the cat. “There’s no need for further gifts, I assure you.” He hunted around for an old rag and gingerly scooped up the poor bird.

Alpine was watching him avidly, clearly expecting him to have a bite.

Or maybe Tony was imagining things.

“I’m just going to go, er, get some salt,” Tony suggested. “You wait here.”

He patted the cat’s head again -- it wasn’t Alpine’s fault that the idea of raw bird turned his stomach -- and left again. There was a rubbish heap only a few halls over; Tony could toss it in and by sunrise, it would be buried under the kitchen’s morning scraps, eggshells and tea leaves and bits of bone too small to turn into soup. A few more days and one of the servants would cart it out to the meadow to turn into fertilizer.

Tony held his robe closed with one hand as he slipped out into the hallway. No lamp needed; it was only a few dozen steps, there and back, and the halls were wide and clear.

The nursery, Tony’s room, and the few classrooms were all on the east hall, with the center stairs taking them down to the first floor and the common and public areas of the house. Across the hall were the Boyar’s rooms, his library and study. And nothing else. Half the main wing was laid over for the Boyar’s personal use.

And the person, carrying a single taper and mounting the stairs toward Bucky’s rooms, was not the Boyar.

Natasha Romanoff’s hair was undone and cascaded down her back like a curtain of fire. She had changed out of her ballgown into tight fitting breeches and a man’s shirt that barely held in her bosom. Despite wearing riding boots, she was as silent in the halls as a thief. How had she even gotten in, unless-- 

Someone was expecting her.

Tony pressed back against the wall, half holding his breath, watching. Bucky hadn’t seemed particularly enamored of her, but dressed like that...

She tapped one finger against the bedchamber door, and a moment later, the door opened.

“You kept me waiting,” Bucky accused her. Tony could just barely see, by the light of Miss Romanoff’s taper, that Bucky was half dressed, shirt off and his feet bare. 

“I had to let you get ahead of me, or I’d have been seen from the carriage,” she said, tossing her hair off her shoulders. “Your school teacher was roaming around. I didn’t want him to see us.”

“Tony’s harmless,” Bucky said. “Come on in, I got started without you.”

Miss Romanoff laughed, low and wicked. “Impatient.” She let him take her inside and the door closed behind them.

Tony’s stomach churned, and not from the dead bird. His mind had no problem at all summoning an image of Bucky _getting started_ , hand dragging over his skin, that thick cock pressing against the confines of his pants--

But not for Tony. For Miss Romanoff, who was _used to_ wandering the castle late at night, apparently, and didn’t want Tony to see them.

Tony, who was _harmless_.

He put his hand on the wall, suddenly unable to draw a full breath. He had known, he had _known_ that whatever he and Bucky had between them was over, despite the desire that still crackled between them. It had to be. But he hadn’t realized that he would be so easy for the boyar to set aside. He’d thought their tryst, however brief, had held some meaning for them both, not a mere fancy with no more thought behind it than picking a daisy at the side of a road.

But apparently he’d been merely a moment’s comfort while Bucky was away from his lover.

Tony pressed his forehead against the cold stone wall and tried to breathe. He could accept that, come to terms with it. It would be far from the first time that Tony’d had a brief, meaningless affair, after all. He only had to reframe their evening together in his thoughts, and everything would be fine.

Of course it would.

He finally managed to fill his lungs and just stood there, holding the air in his body, waiting until his chest ached in a simpler, more physical way before finally letting it slowly back out.

There was no wind or chill this time to announce her presence.

One moment there was nothing, and the next-- she was there.

Just a girl bordering on the cusp of womanhood, her shorn hair floating about her face, wearing a single, white dress. “Shhh,” she said, placing a finger over her mouth. “Come.” She turned and walked away, her feet soundless on the wooden floor. She went to one of the many bookcases in the portrait hall at the head of the stairs and tipped a book, opening a secret door. She looked back at him, and beckoned. _Come._

Tony looked down at the dead bird, and back at the girl. She was walking, this time, not flying. Tony couldn’t see any wings. Maybe he’d imagined that part, before, but the girl herself was... _real_.

“Who--” She put her finger to her mouth again, and Tony stopped. Nodded. He glanced back toward the door that led to Bucky’s room, then turned on his heel to follow the girl into the passage.

The passage was narrow and dark, but clean. The girl waited in the darkness for Tony to join her, and then pulled the release lever, closing them inside. “You’re real,” she said, lighting a small lantern. She went to take his hand and encountered the dead bird. She smiled, oddly. “Is this a gift?”

“I suppose, after a fashion,” Tony said. “The cat left it for me. _I’m_ real? I was beginning to think you were a dream. Or a ghost.”

“If I were a ghost, I should have died,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve done that. Not yet. But maybe I will. Do you think that ghosts haunt the places where they lived, or the people who have wronged them?”

“I... can’t say,” Tony said. “Who _are_ you?”

“Nobody,” she said, drifting down the secret hall. “I’m nobody. Not anymore. I think I was someone, once.”

Tony stumbled a little. “You’re the one that Kobik keeps wanting me to look for, in her room!”

“Sometimes,” she agreed. “She made the transition. She came home. I didn’t. I didn’t come home. I was Halfway, and-- now I’m here. But I’m not ready.”

“Ready for what? What transition? Where are you from?”

“I’m not ready,” she said. “I’m… I’m… Nobody. Nothing. Not good enough. Too compliant. _I’m what they made me to be_.”

She led him further, up a set of narrow stairs that went up, and up. And up, turning around a wide wall, and Tony realized they were climbing the Tower.

“You’re the one who has lights in the tower,” Tony said, relieved to have solved that mystery. Though why the other castle staff would swear they never saw the lights, he didn’t know.

“Shh,” she said. “You can’t talk about that. Anything else, but not that. His rules, even if he doesn’t want me. Even if he… even if… I’m not here at all.” She had a small room at the top of the tower, a bed and a chair. The wings were outstretched, hanging off a tailor’s dummy, strapped on a harness that would go over her shoulders. 

They glistened in the half-light, shaped of metal and glass. Beautiful, really.

“Here we are,” she said, taking a small bottle out of her gown from an interior pocket. “They tried to hide it from me, but I found it.”

Tony frowned at it. “What is it? Who tried to hide it?”

“Glycerin, and a solution of nitrate and sulfuric acid. It only takes a very small amount.”

The chemical equations rotated through his mind. “Are you trying to blow something up?” He took a step back from the explosive little bottle, though he doubted he could get far enough away and still remain in the room.

“No, silly,” she said, laughing. “I’m going to _fly_.”

She put the vial down on her desk and very carefully removed the stopper. She dripped a glass pipette’s worth of the volatile solution into a small engine on the back of the wings. Tiny, like the sort of clockworks that could be found in a musical box.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It’s gorgeous,” Tony said honestly. “Who made it?”

“My father,” she said. “My _real_ father. The doctor took me away, to make my father tell him secrets. The doctor--” She huffed out a breath, fear flittering across her face, then she shook it off. “Put this in that bucket of water.” She extended the pipette to Tony. “But they couldn’t make it work, so he had my father killed, told me that I would be the one to fly.”

Tony did as she asked and then turned back to examine the wings. “And you _do_ fly,” he said. “It’s amazing. What-- How did you get here?” There were no doctors at the castle, not that Tony knew of.

“I came Halfway,” she said. “I came halfway. Where we all come from. Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor. The girl with wings and the boy who will replace the man, and the girl… the child, the one who sees. We all come, and the widow, and-- I don’t remember anymore. My sisters. But I’m not ready. Broken toys.”

None of it made any sense. Whatever had happened to her -- kidnapped and tortured, at least -- seemed to have broken her, made the poor child mad. Tony wondered if Bucky had found her at the same academy that he’d taken Kobik and RJ from.

“I’m sure you’ll be better soon,” Tony said, soothing. “Why did you bring me here tonight?”

“Sometimes. I get lonely. She told me to stay away, I was going… I was going… to do something terrible. I was going to hurt everyone. But you’re not one of us. And… and you’re not-- You don’t know where you are, anymore.” She closed up the engine, running her hands along the wings, the same sure, engineering hands that Tony knew, hands with swollen knuckles, with nicks and cuts and burns. Hands that knew machinery, skin stained with oil. “You’re not one of us, but you’re… like me.”

“Like you? How? You mean, because I work with machines?”

“And that,” she said, then looked at him, straight on. Her eyes were wild, a strange colorless grey, and they didn’t quite seem lined up. “You know machines. And you love him.”

Tony looked away quickly. “It’s not love,” he denied. “We barely knew-- _know_ each other.” He laughed, a hint of bitterness at the edge of it. Everyone, it seemed, loved Bucky.

“It could be,” she said. “It will be, if you stay. You will stay and you will raise his children and his siblings and never-- never ever. But not me. I’m-- I’m _not ready_.” 

Never ever _what_ , Tony wondered. “Not you? What aren’t you ready for? What do you need?”

“What I can’t have,” she said. “I don’t-- I don’t know, do I? _Poor child, she’s quite mad you know. Subject unstable, unusable. Wipe her, try again. Mission report: subject exhibited untenable empathy in a combat situation. Not ideal. Wipe her, try again._ ” She held out her hands, then wrung them together like an actress playing Lady Macbeth. “There’s nothing left of me.”

The poor child was entirely mad. Tony wondered why Bucky had never mentioned her. Lack of trust?

“But you’re real,” she said. “Will you watch me?”

“Yes, of course,” Tony promised. He assumed she meant trying wings, since she’d replaced the fuel. “Now?”

“It is the best time for it,” she said. “No one will see me. There are rumors, you know. Shhh. Ghosts and evil things can hear you.” She tittered, amused at her own joke. “ _I_ can hear you.”

“You seem very solid for a ghost,” Tony returned. “And hardly evil.”

“These are the hands that have committed evil,” she said, and she held her hands up as if for Tony’s inspection. “Are you afraid?”

“Not especially. I’m eager to see your wings in action, however.”

The girl assembled her gear, a pair of lightweight goggles that gave her an insectoid appearance, her wings that strapped over her chest, worn like a pack, and controlling devices, worn like gloves, and attached with thin cables down her arms. “Test flight, Four-12A, night flying, middle altitude. Attempting to gain flight duration with stronger chemical compound and a higher lift point, for momentum. Thrust capacity set to sixty percent.”

That was... very methodical, for a madwoman. Tony looked around and spotted a notebook on a table. He picked up a pencil that looked like it had been chewed half to pieces and jotted down the parameters of the test. “Ready,” he agreed.

She threw open the windows and walked out onto the narrow balcony that ringed the tower, probably once used to house archers during an attack. With a jerk of one of her hand-cords, she started the motor, which whined and then gave off that same flickering, insectoid sounds that Tony had heard before. The wings started slowly, moving in a grinding, figure eight pattern, and sped, until she pushed off with her toes and was airborne, hovering.

“Ready,” she said, voice barely audible over the whirr of her wings.

“I’m watching,” Tony assured her.

With a wild, almost joyous cry, she leaped off the side of the balcony, and for a heart-stopping moment, plummeted like a stone toward the ground and certain demise.

And then she caught the wind, pulled her wings in the correct alignment and launched herself skyward like a rocket.

Tony laughed in delight, watching her soar. Flying looked like _fun_ , really. He wondered if the girl would let him try it, sometime.

Somewhere, out in the distance, maybe half a mile from the castle, Tony could still see her as a dim hole in the stars, see the moonlight reflected off her wings. And then-- she stuttered, there was a brilliant flare, like fire or the snapping of a flintlock in low light, and the shape that was the girl faltered against the sky.

She dropped, seemed to recover, but swirled a few times, and finally went below the treeline where Tony could no longer see her.

“Oh damn,” he cursed. If her wings had failed, that was a long walk back. He stared down at the treeline, fixing the direction in his mind, and then dashed back down the tower stairs and through the tunnel.

He didn’t spend long in his room picking out his clothes, throwing on warm and sturdy things without regard to their appearance.

He hesitated in the hallway, wondering if he should alert Bucky -- but then the sound of Miss Romanoff’s laughter echoed, muffled by the heavy door, and Tony decided he was better off leaving them uninterrupted. For his own sake, if not theirs.

There was no one in the stables so late at night, but Tony knew well enough how to saddle a horse. He picked out one that looked strong enough to carry two, and threw the saddle on as quickly as he could. He practically flung himself onto the horse’s back and steered her out of the stable, down the road in the direction he’d seen the girl last.

It was crisp, chilly, but the night was clear and the moonlight well enough to light the road, which was good, because it wasn’t like there were street lamps along the mountain road. Based on Tony’s projections, it would take him half an hour to reach the place she’d landed, and provided she wasn’t terribly injured, somewhat longer to get back. The horse would be slower, carrying two and a load.

He didn’t let himself think about what he would do if she was injured beyond his simple skills to patch and bandage.

When he got closer, there were voices in the woods, sounding panicked. Had someone seen her, come to see what manner of creature she was?

“Hello?” he called. “Miss? I’ve come to help, are you all right?” Hopefully, whoever it was would back off, knowing the girl had some support.

He hopped down off the horse; riding in the woods at night was dangerous when you couldn’t see branches or the shape of the ground.

There was a crashing sound, like someone had fallen in the woods and landed in a pile of broken sticks, a gutteral curse and then, “Run!” 

The girl burst out of the woods, her dress torn and filthy, her face wild. She yelled, pointed behind him--

Something crashed into Tony’s head, blindingly hard. Sparks flew in his vision and then--

Everything went dark.


	12. Chapter 12

_Kobik was standing in the middle of Tony’s room, her little face screwed up and she screamed, pointing to the empty bed. There was a spot of blood on the coverlet, probably from the bird. “He’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone!” she was screaming--_

“Ah, carefully there, Mr. Stark,” an unfamiliar voice said. “You hit your head quite hard.”

Tony winced and put his hand to his throbbing skull, not quite brave enough yet to open his eyes. “The girl?” he wondered. His voice came out as a scratchy rasp, his throat dry and sticky. “What... what happened?”

“I’m afraid you were caught up in the excitement of the evening,” the man went on. “Here, let me help you.” A warm arm slid under Tony’s back and helped him, very gently, to sit up. A cup of what smelled like overly sugary tea was pressed to his mouth.

He drank a sip, and then another. Too much sugar, indeed, but it wetted his parched mouth and throat. He opened one eye a slit, carefully, but wherever he was, it was dim. No bright light flared to make the pain in his head worse. “Who... Who are you? Where am I?” This didn’t look like any of the rooms in the castle that he was familiar with.

“The demon-woman fled, after nearly killing two of my men,” the man said. He put the cup down and patted Tony’s arm. “They weren’t certain what to do with you, so, they brought you to me for care.”

The fire was banked very low, but the room was warm, well-appointed. Tony found his hand on a comforter thick with feathers, in a luxurious four-poster bed. The man wore a dark green cloak and a silver suit underneath, with greying hair pulled back from his forehead. He was quite lovely, really, with a firm chin and high cheekbones. His eyes were the color of teakwood. “You may call me Victor, if you like,” he said. “And you are in my home. Welcome to Latveria, Mr. Stark.”

_Latveria?_ How in God’s name had he gotten all the way to Latveria without waking up even once along the journey? He touched the edges of the knot on the back of his head, testing. “How long was I out?” he wondered. “I’ve got to get back; they’ll be missing me.”

“Nearly a week,” Victor said. “And there’ll be no traveling for you, not for some time, I believe. Your head injury, Mr. Stark, was quite severe. I despaired of your life, but you did, indeed, pull through. Perhaps more through sheer stubbornness on your part than any medical skill on mine, but one never knows.”

A week? Christ, Kobik would be furious with him, or terribly worried. Or both. Both was certainly an option, with her. And Bucky-- Tony shook his head, then winced and stopped as it made the pain flare up. “I can’t-- I thank you, most sincerely, for your care. But I’m needed.” The pulsing agony made it hard to think, to reason.

“I’m afraid not,” Victor said. “Needed or otherwise, the passage through the mountains is closed until spring. As I said, my men did not know what to do with you. If they’d been less vigilant, surely they would have left you in the wood to live or die as chance would have it. But now you are here, and here you will stay. Until spring, at least.”

Spring was _months_ away, near half a year. “Closed?” Tony repeated dumbly. “What if -- a letter, at least?”

“What a charming idea,” Victor said, clapping his hands. “I shall be delighted to make the attempt. Perhaps if we send it south, it will get around the ice and snow. It may take some time to arrive and to get an answer back. In the meanwhile, you will regain your strength. An equitable solution for everyone.”

It was far from ideal, but there was little choice in the matter. Tony tried to sit up straighter and found himself too weak even for that much effort, without Victor’s supporting arm. “It seems,” he conceded, “that I am at the mercy of your hospitality, for the time being.”

“Indeed, you are,” Victor said, and that sounded almost threatening, somehow. “Rest, Mr. Stark, and I will bring you food shortly. When you are better, we will find occupation for you, and I hope I am not such a poor host as to keep you from being sufficiently entertained. After dinner, if you are feeling better, I will help you pen your letter to your friends who have misplaced you.”

“Thank you,” Tony said. There was something... something tickling at the back of his thoughts, but he was too weak and pained to focus on it. He let himself fall back against the pillows, wincing again as the movement jostled his injury. “Rest... seems like a good idea.”

Victor walked over to Tony’s bedside, lightly pulling the blankets up for him and resting one hand, cool and dry, on Tony’s forehead. It felt very nice, if a bit heavy. “Sleep well,” Victor said. Tony wasn’t sure if he did sleep, or if he was dreaming, but it seemed like he opened his eyes long enough to see the man pull the hood of his cloak up, and press a metal mask in place, dark and harsh, with eyeslits to see out from, and a mouth that formed a brutal, cold line.

But when Tony blinked, it was as if Victor had been gone quite a while. 

And sleep was still calling him.

“ _Papa,” Kobik said, banging her little fist on the door. “Nobody took him. He’s gone, he’s gone! He said he wouldn’t leave me and he’s just gone away.”_

“ _I didn’t leave you on purpose,” Tony said, or tried to say. Dreamlike, his mouth wouldn’t open. He reached for Kobik, trying to calm her, to pull her into his arms, but his hands passed through her._

_Like being surrounded by a mist, he couldn’t see-- just shadows and the suggestions of shapes. Kobik. The bed._

_Bucky._

“ _Who took him?” Bucky asked, staring around at what might have been Tony’s room._

“ _Nobody!” Kobik wailed. “Why won’t you listen? You don’t listen to me!”_

“ _His boots are gone,” RJ said, although Tony couldn’t see the boy, just hear him. “And a horse is missing. I don’t think anybody took him. I think he just left.”_

“ _Ask her,” Kobik insisted. “Ask her what happened.”_

“ _Ask who?”_

“ _Nobody!”_

“ _The girl in the tower!” Tony tried to shout. “The one with the wings!” The best he could manage was a soft hum that sounded not unlike the burr of the mechanical wings._

“ _He won quite a bit of money off Father Killian,” and there was Natasha. “Maybe he decided he didn’t need the job anymore.”_

“ _Tony wouldn’t do that,” Bucky said, quietly. He had Tony’s red jacket in his hands, practically crushing the fabric._

“ _I wouldn’t,” Tony agreed. “I just wanted to help the girl from the tower!” He tried to touch Bucky, but couldn’t even get within a foot of Bucky’s skin, like pressing against an invisible barrier. “I’m in Latveria!”_

“ _James, your attachment to the man is showing,” Natasha said, a half-smile making her cheek dimple._

“ _Ask her!” Kobik insisted, stamping her foot. “Ask her what she did to him.”_

“ _If you say nobody again,” RJ said, “you’re going to have the distinct pleasure of watching your Papa go up in flames. He can’t ask her if she’s nobody.”_

“ _Wait,” Bucky said, and he dropped to one knee in front of Kobik. “What do you mean, Nobody? Do-- Kobik, honey, do you mean_ Nadia _?”_

_The girl in the tower had a name?_

_Why would Tony dream that?_

_Kobik turned, as if she heard something, and it seemed like she looked directly at Tony. Not in his direction, but up, and--_ I see you--

“--are feeling better, Mr. Stark,” Victor said. “I brought you some dinner. Nothing too heavy, some soup and a bit of toast.”

His host came into the room, carrying a silver tray. There was mud on his boots, and-- his feet almost rang out on the floor. Not boots, then, but _sabatons_.

Tony blinked away the remnants of the odd dream -- he must be missing them more than he thought -- and struggled to sit up. The headache was much faded, which was a relief, though he still felt weak. “Thank you,” he said. “It’s very kind of you to see to me, when you’re so busy.” Victor must be busy, if he hadn’t even had time to change into regular boots after -- Tony guessed -- training in the yard.

“Well, you’re very special, aren’t you? Can’t just leave your care to a servant,” Victor said. He sat the tray on the bedside table. “Tell me, Mr. Stark, what do you know about the infernal device?”

Tony blinked at Victor, frozen in the act of reaching for a piece of toast. “The... what? I’m afraid you’ll need to be more specific about what device you mean.” 

“When they found you, my men were fighting with a she-demon, with wings,” Victor said. “Quite terrifying, I’m told. Seems a coincidence, that you just happened to come along, at that very time. What do you know of her?”

Tony snorted. “Not a demon,” he said. “Just a girl. Not... all there, mentally. But a girl, nonetheless.”

“Perhaps,” Victor said. “But that girl nearly killed two of my men. She is not a normal female. The wings, however. We found they are… _mechanical_.”

“Yes, I knew that,” Tony agreed. “But I’d only just seen them myself the first time that night. I don’t know much of anything about them.” He was strangely reluctant to give Nadia’s -- it was as good a name as any, and better than calling her Nobody -- secrets away to Victor.

“Well, perhaps we can uncover their mysteries together, you and I,” Victor said, patting Tony’s hand. “I think we would make a fine team, don’t you?”

“I... can’t say that I know,” Tony said. “I don’t really know anything about you.”

“How odd,” Victor said, easily. “I know so many things about you. Astonishing mind, you have, Mr. Stark. Quite one of the most brilliant men in the world, and they call you _erratic_. A ne’er-do-well. It was quite the scandal, wasn’t it?”

Christ, was Tony never going to be free of the rumor mill? He rubbed a hand over his face. “Rather. But I don’t even know your full name.”

“I have been remiss,” Victor said. “Truth, I wanted your opinion of me as a man, first, before becoming mired down with… _other matters_. Your need to flee the country… well, I am never a man to miss an opportunity. I had an offer of employment in hand. I do keep very careful track of my. Well, shall we say, my competitors?”

Tony set the toast aside and leaned back, looking Victor over. “Competitor,” he repeated. “To... Stark Industries?” He examined Victor closely, but the man’s face and clothing offered no clues. “Who are you, then?”

Victor smiled, but there was something bitter in the look. “Perhaps this will help,” he said, and pulled up the green cape, lowering his face mask. “I’m quite sure they speak of me, even in your home country.”

Tony felt himself recoil. “Doom,” he whispered. “You’re _Doom_.”

Doom pushed the mask back up, half a smile on his face. “My mother liked to maintain that the word came from our surname, and not the other way around. And in truth, I am no more doom than you are stark. They’re merely names. But it does make for a colorful public image.”

“Y...es,” Tony said. He couldn’t stop staring. Victor vonDoom was a nightmarish figure, as ruthless as he was brilliant, a merciless and despotic leader about whom the best that could be said was that he didn’t seem intent on expanding the borders of his little country. But he looked so... _normal_. He’d been courteous to Tony, even kind.

Why had his men been on Bucky’s land, though, well away from Latveria’s borders? Why had they attacked the girl, or brought Tony back to Latveria rather than to the castle or the village?

“And you want me to help you investigate the wings,” Tony said.

“Certainly,” Victor said. “I would welcome your assistance, your expertise. Your fascinating mind. Here, we are not so hidebound and conservative as your peers. You may have whatever you like, whiskey, women. Men. There are any number of substances I have been told have tremendous effect, I could obtain for your use. We know what it is to be brilliant, and to be alone in that. Why not… be a little less lonely. Together.”

Tony wondered what Victor would do if Tony said no. Throw him into prison? Torture him? Certainly, Tony wouldn’t be allowed to walk away, no ill-will between them.

And, unless Victor was lying, the passes through the mountains were closed for the winter already.

Tony took a breath, and another, until he thought he could speak steadily. “All right,” he said. “It’s... a shock. But it would be nice, to work alongside someone who can keep up.”

“You know as well as I, the power of rumor,” Victor said. “What you read in the papers. It isn’t always true. We could have a very lovely working relationship. Perhaps, even more than that.”

Was... was he implying what Tony _thought_ he was implying? Best not to even speculate. Tony didn’t really want anyone that way, not now. An image of Bucky flashed through his mind, but that... was not to be, and he mustn’t dwell on it. “I look forward to working with you,” he hedged carefully, “when I’m feeling more myself.”

“Of course,” Victor said. “It’s been a trying journey and with your head wound. Well, these things take time. Rest. I brought you stationery. If you wish to write your letter, I’ll see it posted.”

A letter which would almost certainly be read before being delivered, if it were delivered at all. “You’re too kind,” Tony said. “I’ll compose something after I’ve eaten, perhaps, if I’m not too tired.”

"Of course," Victor said, and then gave Tony a little bow. "When you are feeling better, you may make free with my library. Or rather I should say, our library. The people of Latveria have given much to its accumulation. Down from this room but two doors and left."

Tony nodded. “Something to look forward to, then, as I heal.”

"You may not see me some few days," Victor said. "I'll be to home as much as I can, but matters are somewhat urgent. If I send a server in my stead, do not be alarmed or offended and know you are, now and always, in my thoughts."

Well, _that_ was a disturbing thought. “Of course, of course,” Tony murmured. “You must be extraordinarily busy.”

"Quite," Victor said. "Enjoy your dinner." 

And he left again, leaving some impossible feeling of relief behind, as if the danger was over just by him being out of the room. Which was an entirely false sensation, Tony knew.

He barely tasted the soup as he ate, thoughts bent on how best to compose his letter, on the chance that Victor did, in fact, have it delivered.

_My dear James,_

_You must forgive me for any distress that my sudden absence has caused you and the children. Believe me that departing was not at all my intention. I wanted to offer assistance, but in that flight of fancy, found myself the one in need._

_Luckily, some visitors to the wood happened upon me and brought me with them back to their home, to heal what I believe to be a rather severe concussion. Less fortuitously, their home is not nearby, and I am informed that the pass shall not be open to the southwest again until spring thaw. But fear not; I am in the best of hands. My host is all things gracious and kind, and is even eager to ensure my hands and thoughts are not needlessly idle as I await traveling weather. Truly, to work with him will be quite a feather in my cap._

_Send my affections to all three children, I beg, and know that I will wing my way homeward as soon as may be._

_Yours always,_

_Tony_


	13. Chapter 13

Tony was up and about, albeit slowly, in another week. He thought he might have met three different servants, but it was hard to tell, because they all wore thin, metal masks and green, hooded robes. It was impossible to mistake them for VonDoom, but also made it difficult to tell them apart.

“A custom,” Victor explained. “From older times. As much to protect the workers as anything. An anonymous servant is more difficult to punish on a whim, and exceedingly difficult to bribe, since no one knows who works where. The older ones, whose family have worked in Doomstahd for generations, they keep to the custom.”

There was one who brought him food, drink, whatever he asked for, who was quite different from the slight, tall one who cleaned his rooms, and different again from the bulky person who happened to _show up_ whenever Tony was exploring the castle or going anywhere that wasn’t his bedroom, the library, or the bath. 

It could not have been a coincidence.

“You my personal keeper?” Tony asked them once. “That must be boring. More comfortable than walking a guard post on the walls, though, I expect.” He wondered what orders his guard had if Tony attempted to go somewhere he wasn’t wanted. It was tempting to test it.

Not quite so tempting as the library, however.

A thousand years of theft and bribery (and, Tony had to concede, probably a few legitimate sales) had made for quite the collection. Once his eyes would focus properly again -- damned concussion -- he spent hours at a time in the library, deeply absorbed in whatever volume happened to catch his attention on any given day.

If he had to be vonDoom’s prisoner, he reasoned, he might as well get something useful out of it.

Not that he intended to remain a prisoner for any longer than necessary. Plan A was to acquire some fuel and steal the wings. He didn’t know how far they could take him, but as soon as he’d crossed the border, he could probably find someone willing to hide him from Latverian pursuit.

If that failed -- and it might, if only because vonDoom rarely left him alone with the wings for more than a few moments at a time -- then Plan B was to steal a servant’s uniform and make his way out in disguise.

He entered his third week as a guest of Latveria -- that he was awake and aware for, at least, and he kept track with little marks on the inside of the book he’d taken from the library to read at night, some ridiculous little gothic romance novel. It was funny and trite and ridiculous and had him laughing at it, or crying with it in turns. 

They’d gone out, that day. Victor had taken him in a fancy carriage and driven him from the castle out to the train station and back. The whole time, people from the city had gathered to watch in the streets and throw flowers and folded paper cranes and cut up bits of ribbon. He was going to be tracking ribbons through the castle for weeks. 

“You see, Mr. Stark, my people love me,” Victor said. It sounded harsh and incongruous, coming from behind the iron mask he wore in public. “And they will grow to love you.”

Tony hummed noncommittally. “Between now and spring?” he guessed. “It seems a shame to lead them to such devotion when I will be returning to my post.”

“Well, perhaps,” Victor said. “I was hoping, very much, that you would enjoy your stay. Surely, I have done everything I can to be a proper host?”

“Of course,” Tony said. “Still, I have promises to keep, obligations to fulfill. And all my things are there.”

“Mere ephemera,” Victor said. “There are always more _things_ to be had. Fine clothing and books, cologne. Jewelry. Tell me what you desire, and you will have it.”

_I want Bucky,_ Tony thought, somewhat rebelliously. “You’re too generous,” he said aloud. Good God, how was he going to last out months more of this without either giving in or incurring vonDoom’s wrath? He needed to find a way out, and soon.

“You have beautiful hands,” Victor said, taking hold of one, holding it up as if to display it. “You should wear rings. Would you… object to a ring? A small token of my admiration and affection.”

Tony nearly choked on his own air. A _ring_ , by God! “I never wear rings,” he threw out. “It’s so dangerous, working with machinery.”

“You are not always working,” Victor said, and then he sat back in the coach, looking at the scenery outside. ”We’re a small nation, but very self-sufficient. My people are not wealthy, but each has everything they need to be comfortable and happy. The best schools, publicly run heating system -- the entire works are underground. Perhaps you would enjoy seeing the steam tunnels. Ingenious. The work of my mother. She was a great ruler, and a good woman. You would have liked her.”

“She sounds quite interesting,” Tony admitted. “Perhaps I’ll look in the library for a biography.” Anything he could do to steer the conversation back toward intellectual pursuits.

“There are some few,” Victor admitted. “Commissioned and otherwise. And a collection of her papers and journals. I would be delighted to translate them for you. I could read to you, after dinner, before you go to sleep.”

Good Lord, _no_. “Let me start with the biographies,” Tony hedged. “It’s always helpful to understand a scientist’s background before delving into their work.”

“Of course,” Victor said. “We need not rush. We have all the time in the world.”

And he took Tony’s hand again and refused to relinquish it until they got out of the carriage. 

* * *

_It was very late. The clock in the hallway had rung three times. Kobik couldn’t sleep. It didn’t help that Alpine continued to cry at Mr. Stark’s door every night. He scorned the bed, wouldn’t sleep there, but he cried like his heart was breaking._

_Kobik stole out of bed, headed for the kitchen. She was hungry and thirsty. She hadn’t eaten dinner because Papa had insisted she should eat. So she didn’t._

_Because Mr. Stark had left them, and no one knew where he was, and Papa who always fixed everything couldn’t fix it._

_She was just reaching the balcony when the door opened. Miss Natasha came in, as if she lived there, dressed in a riding cloak and man’s trousers._

_Papa came out of the library as soon as he heard her footsteps in the hall and Kobik made herself tiny in the shadows._

“ _Anything?” Papa was sad. Kobik knew that. His face was unshaven, he hadn’t changed his shirt in days. He was still carrying around the scrap of newspaper with Mr. Tony’s face on it. Stark Industries Heir Disgraced!_

_Tony was startled; he hadn’t had one of these dreams since his concussion had finally healed. What was bringing it on now? And why was he imagining Bucky so... so_ sad _?_

_Miss Natasha stamped her feet, knocking snow off. “If he was in Hydra hands, he’s met nothing more than a sharp knife and a few feet of hastily dug grave.”_

_Papa made an animal sound of pain, and Kobik slammed both her hands over her mouth to keep from adding to it. Mr. Stark wasn’t dead. He wasn’t. He couldn’t be._

“ _James, truly, it’s better this way,” she said. “I’ve checked all the prisons, all the dark and terrible places, and he’s not there. No one’s heard of him, heard anything about him. He’s not suffering.”_

_Hydra? Why would they look for Tony at the Hydra academy? Why would Miss Romanoff help Bucky look for Tony at all? “I’m not at Hydra,” he said impatiently. “I’m in_ Latveria _.” Honestly, the ridiculous things his imagination came up with beggared belief. He hadn’t even thought about the Hydra academy in weeks._

“ _Nadia said she was attacked,” Papa said. “Who else would attack her but Hydra? Even if the villagers thought she was a ghost or a demon or something, they’d have at least said something._ Someone _would know something. Who else can disappear like that, no trace? Someone took him.”_

“ _Nadia might have frightened him,” Miss Romanoff said. “Hell, she frightens me, some days.”_

“ _He took nothing, Tash. Not his books or his money or his new clothes. Tony’s not such a fool to run away completely unprepared.”_

_Kobik turned her head until it seemed like she was looking at Tony. Her eyes grew wide. “You’re here,” she whispered. “You came back--” She reached for him, but her fingers stopped, like there was some force field between her and him. “You’re not real.”_

“ _I think you’ll find that_ I’m _the one who’s dreaming, and_ you’re _the one who’s not real,” Tony told her sadly. “I miss you, all of you.” He tried to reach out to brush her hair back, out of habit, but encountered the same block. “I wish you were real. I could tell you where to find me, if they were really looking.”_

“ _You need to come back!”_

“ _I want to, sweetheart,” Tony said. “I wish I could. But the man who found me won’t let me leave. I’m trying to work out how to get away, but it will take time.” Time he wasn’t sure he had, but he couldn’t bring himself to say so, even in a dream._

“ _Kobik, honey, what are you doing up?” And then Bucky was there, Tony could see him, from close enough to touch, scooping her up._

“ _Mr. Stark is there,” she said, pointing._

“ _Noone is there, honey,” Bucky said. “You just had a dream. That’s all.”_

“ _It’s not! He says a man has him. He said it.”_

_Tony couldn’t touch Bucky, either. He sighed. “I don’t suppose you want to mount a daring rescue mission to Latveria?” he wondered._

“ _I can see him, he’s right there, he’s wearing weird clothes, and his hair is all longer,” Kobik complained. “He says he’s in Veria.”_

“ _Bavaria? Why-- Kobik,” Bucky sighed. “You had a dream--” And then he stopped talking, because Alpine came down the hall, tail held at a jaunty angle, chirruping the way he did sometimes._

_And stropped Tony’s leg, practically knocking him over with his enthusiasm._

_Tony huffed and bent to scratch the cat’s ears. “It figures, I’d have a dream to see the people I’m missing, but_ you’re _the only one I can actually touch,” he scolded fondly._

_Bucky made another sound, heart wrenching, like he was near tears. “_ Tony--”

“ _That is so weird,” Miss Romanoff said, watching the cat. “The cat is having group hallucinations with your daughter while you’re mourning your missing lover. Sometimes I think escaping from the Red Room was a bad idea. I could be a perfectly content diplomatic assassin right now.”_

“ _It’s really not fair,” Tony told Alpine. “If I’m going to dream that I’m back here, you’d think I’d at least dream everyone could see me, instead of just... you and Kobik.” He petted Alpine some more. “Maybe if vonDoom keeps pushing this whole courtship thing, I’ll ask him for a cat. If I’m going to be forced to marry him, I should at least get something out of the deal, right?”_

_Kobik twisted in Bucky’s arms. “Who’s VonDoom?”_

“ _Victor VonDoom?” Bucky’s eyes sprung open. “Veria. Kobik, honey, did he say_ Latveria _?”_

“ _Yes, of course I did,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. “I guess this means he never sent my letter.”_

“ _He said he sended you a letter,” Kobik reported. “An’, an’... he’s going to marry VonDoom and get a cat.”_

“ _That is not what I said,” Tony corrected, giving Kobik a sharp look. “I said if I_ have _to marry vonDoom, I should at least get a cat out of the deal. I’m very much hoping I don’t have to marry him. I don’t even_ like _him.” And then, because it was a dream, he admitted, “I’d rather marry your Papa.”_

_Miss Romanoff was circling the spot where Tony was standing, poking her hand at it, as if she could find the thing that the cat was seeing. Her hand went right through Tony’s neck and that felt extremely strange._

_She pulled her hand back and looked at it. “I think there’s something there, James. Something. Something we can’t see.”_

“ _Why not? I don’t-- Tony!” Bucky was staring around wildly, like he expected Tony to leap out and yell boo like a ghost._

“ _He said he’d rather marry you,” Kobik said. “I like that. Can Mr. Stark be our other Papa?”_

“ _Did he?” Bucky flushed, his eyes going dark and downcast._

“ _Stop that,” Miss Romanoff scolded him. “Why you act like any of -- what the world expects matters? We’re beyond the world’s censure, James. If you love the man, and he’s still alive, marry him.”_

_Well, at least in his dream, Bucky wasn’t marrying Miss Romanoff, apparently. “You’ll need to hurry, then,” he said drily. “VonDoom is getting pretty impatient.”_

“ _Kobik, honey, do me a favor,” Bucky said, slowly and carefully. “Ask Mr. Stark what I told him to call me, when we first met.”_

_Kobik made an exasperated pout. “He can hear you, Papa.”_

“ _Bucky,” Tony said, trying to fight down a blush at the memory of that first meeting. “He told me to call him Bucky.”_

“ _He says, you said he could call you Bucky,” Kobik answered._

“ _Bucky?” Miss Romanoff looked almost offended. “Who the hell is_ Bucky _?”_

“ _It doesn’t matter,” Bucky said, and he tried to look in the same spot that Kobik was looking, as if to meet the gaze of someone he couldn’t see. Tony took a step to the side, just to make sure, so he could look, face-on, with Bucky. “Tony, listen to me. It’s going to take-- two weeks for us to get to Latveria. It’ll be Christmas. Keep Doom happy, do whatever you need to do, but get outside the castle on Christmas. We’ll come and get you, all right? Can you hear me?” Bucky was crying, tears streaking down his cheeks and into his unkempt beard. “We’ll come and get you.”_

_Tony tried again, futilely, to touch Bucky, to wipe those tears from his face, and sighed in frustration. “Stupid dream,” he complained. “Is it really only two weeks to Christmas? Guess part of me’s been paying attention.” Bucky was still staring, intent but not quite correctly focused, at the space where Tony was standing, as if waiting for a signal._

“ _Fine,” Tony said. “Outside on Christmas. I’ll... I’ll think of something. A quiet little walk would probably be welcome, anyway.” He didn’t know why he was actually humoring his dream, but, really, why not? Maybe his dreamself knew he’d need a little solitude, by then._

_Kobik reached for him, again, and Tony watched as his hand passed right through hers, as the scene went dim and dark, and she was crying, “no, don’t, don’t go--”_

He startled awake, his heart pounding. The room was still dark, morning not yet fully upon them, or maybe it was still midnight; Tony didn’t know. He missed the loud tolling of the big clock in the castle. It had eventually faded into background noise, but Tony had always had a general idea of what time it was, even when he first woke up.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. What a strange dream. He wondered what, exactly, his inner self was trying to tell him. But it had been nice to see Bucky and Kobik and Alpine, and even Miss Romanoff, though thinking about them now made his heart ache with longing.

Was it truly only two weeks to Christmas? He counted up the days on his fingers, and while he knew a few were missing -- even after he’d first awoken, the passing of time had been a little uncertain, for a while. But it certainly seemed like it might be. He’d have to look at a calendar in the morning. He wondered, idly, what Bucky and the children would do for the holiday.

_We’ll come and get you._

The details of the dream were slipping away, even as he sat there, alone in the darkness. He felt as if he was chasing the shadows of a feeling; none of it seemed particularly real, and yet more intense than any dream he’d ever had. Bucky with his scruffy beard and Miss Romanoff’s exasperation with his hesitancy. Alpine, who could see him and rubbed all over him. _My person, mine._ It was almost as if Tony could still feel the weight of the cat against his leg.

But that was crazy, wasn’t it? He couldn’t possibly have -- what? _Traveled_ there, just to see them? That was the kind of thing that one heard of in ghost stories.

He was still trying to make sense of it all as his window grew light, a new day dawning over Latveria.

Another day. Poking at the wings, pretending to read, enjoying the dubious hospitality of VonDoom. 

_Keep him happy._

Sound advice, even coming from his subconscious, but there was only so far Tony would go to appease the ruler. Bucky or no Bucky, Tony couldn’t see himself allied with Victor -- for business _or_ pleasure. He’d just have to put some extra effort into the wings, into gathering what he needed for the fuel.

Christmas was as good a day as any for a flight.


	14. Chapter 14

Christmas in Latveria was lavish, glitter and gold. Plays and entertainments, and Tony found himself swept along with the celebrations as VonDoom’s special guest, accompanying him to pantomimes and dances.

Victor did, in fact, give him a ring. Presented along with many other expensive gifts that he piled next to the fireplace in Tony’s bedroom, and bid to open on Christmas morning.

Tony tried protesting -- the gifts were too lavish, especially since Tony had nothing to give in return, but that only led to increasingly-obvious suggestions about what, precisely, Tony might have to give Victor.

It was all he could do to keep the man at bay. If his escape attempt failed, he rather suspected that by the new year, he’d either be imprisoned or engaged. He wasn’t sure which prospect appealed less.

Tony finally managed to slip away when VonDoom’s royal presence was required at a blessing ceremony. Tony wasn’t privy to the ins and outs of Latverian religion, but apparently it required VonDoom and no outsiders.

Which didn’t keep Tony from ending up with his hulking green shadow.

But he made his way to the workshop where Victor had the mostly-repaired wings on display. They were, fortunately, too lightweight to carry VonDoom and his armor, so they had been in the process of replicating the design for a larger frame, which was less tricky, perhaps, than Tony had let on.

He’d also looked over a particularly tricky set of valves and pronounced them too heavy for not enough benefit, and dropped them from the redesign. As he was relatively certain they were key to regulating the flow of fuel, he rather hoped that the wings would blow up on their maiden flight. He doubted the explosion would kill the man, but it would at least set back the time before the world had to contend with a flying VonDoom.

Tony mostly ignored the guard, as he usually did, bypassing the wings and going instead to the little section of the workshop that had been set aside for the formulation of the fuel. He decanted the latest formula, the one he’d put together just before going to bed the night before, and tucked the vial very carefully into the pouch he’d created for it. Another vial came out, and a rag.

Tony dumped the contents on the cloth and, holding his breath as much as possible, took it over to the guard standing at the door. “This can’t be right,” he said. He didn’t have to stretch very far to act agitated and distressed; his nerves were frayed thin. “It just _can’t--_ ” He stepped right into the guard’s space. “Smell this,” he commanded. “What does it smell like to you?” He shoved the cloth right up against the thin metal mask.

The man attempted to jerk backward, staggered, and then fell, all but squashing Tony to the floor.

Tony wormed back out from underneath the guard’s bulk. “Yes, I thought it smelled like ether, too,” he said. He didn’t know how much time he had before VonDoom’s ceremonial duties were done, though, so he wasted none. He shouldered the wingpack, quickly checked that he could reach the fuel port, and hurried out of the workshop, shutting the door so no random worker passing by would notice the unconscious guard.

He briefly considered stopping by his room -- he wasn’t well dressed for the weather -- but it lay in the direction opposite from his goal, a garden entrance that was unlikely to be much used, this time of year.

Fortuitously, Tony didn’t encounter anyone on his way to the entrance; everyone was celebrating, or working to ensure that VonDoom wasn’t disappointed with his party. Tony had yet to see any direct evidence of the monster VonDoom was rumored to be, but the way his people seemed to fear him, the way a primitive people might fear their god, didn’t bode well. 

Tony could leave the speculating for another time. He needed to leave. If there was a rescue coming, and he still wasn’t sure if he believed his own dreams, they would be arriving soon. And if not, this was still his best bet for escape in the confusion and crowds of the celebration.

He slipped outside and pressed his back against the palace wall, watching the surrounding land, what he could see of it through the snow-covered hedges and skeletal trees. He listened for anything that might be anyone coming his way, but heard nothing.

Fingers already half-numb from the cold, he slipped free the vial of fuel and tipped it into the wingpack. _Moment of truth_ , he told himself. He took a steadying breath, and slipped his hands into the grips.

Merely hovering a few inches above the frozen ground, wobbling unsteady as a newborn colt, wasn’t going to get him anywhere, although it was good data to know that the wings would hold him aloft. He twitched one hand, then the other, weaving back and forth, getting a feel for flight, then--

“Stop him!” Victor’s voice rang over the courtyard, booming and terrifying.

“Damn and blast,” Tony cursed. No time left to experiment. He twisted his wrists, opening the throttle, and shot up into the sky until he was well out of reach. They’d start shooting soon, he expected. He leaned toward the distant forest, zipping back and forth partly out of inexperienced control and partly deliberately, to make it difficult for his pursuers to aim.

It was cold, and his eyes were tearing at the force of the wind, but Tony had never felt anything quite like the wild joy of flight, spinning free through the air. He couldn’t contain a whoop of exhilaration as he spun. Even the sounds of gunfire behind him couldn’t sink the pure, unadulterated wonder.

He spun through the air, twisting until he was half-dizzy with it, streaking toward the cover of the forest. He was nearly there when an unexpected blot of bright, blood-red gave him pause. He hesitated, blinking away the tears from the wind, and looked again.

Three horses, all dappled grey, barely visible against the shadow and snow. And one woman, brilliant red hair streaming down her back. She showed up like a bloodstain against the white ground. Her cloak was white and her clothing was white. She’d be practically invisible if she had her hood up, but she was studying the castle, holding up a spyglass to one eye. She turned, said something, and--

Bucky walked out of the woods, a rifle slung across his back, his clothing silver and black and he looked like so much ambulatory hedge, but it was him.

It was unmistakable.

Utterly shocked, Tony’s hands jerked uncontrollably and he spun out of control. A last, desperate yank on the cord steered him more or less in their direction and he landed ungracefully in the snow, bumping and rolling through what felt like shards of ice, like that time he’d fallen off his sled as a boy but worse, so much worse.

He came to a stop, finally, half-buried in a snowdrift and staring up at the sky, still more than half-stunned. “It was real,” he whispered.

Bucky appeared, standing over him like the moon eclipsing the sun. “Tony-- oh, my god. Tony-- You flew!”

“For a moment,” Tony agreed. He shook his hand free of the steering grips and wiped the mess of snow and ice from his face, and looked again. It was still Bucky. “You’re here,” he said dumbly. “You-- It wasn’t a dream, after all.”

“I didn’t know if you could hear us,” Bucky said, and he was gently unhooking the wings, pushing bits and pieces of the pack aside. “I-- I didn’t even know if Kobik was just dreaming, or lying. Or confused.”

“Only James would drag us halfway across the mountain chain for a shared hallucination between a psychic child and a deranged cat,” Miss Romanoff said. 

“I’m glad he did,” Tony said. He struggled to sit up. “We should go. VonDoom’s people are chasing me.”

“I should become an engineer,” Miss Romanoff said, pushing Tony to his feet. “You have more rich and powerful men interested in you than I ever have.” She brushed snow off Tony’s back, a little more forcefully than truly necessary.

“I--” Bucky was still just looking at him. “I thought you left.”

“I wouldn’t,” Tony said. “I _couldn’t_. I just went out to help-- Is her name really Nadia? And VonDoom’s men were out there, chasing her. They must have knocked me out. I woke up here.”

“Her name is Nadia,” Miss Romanoff said. “Nadia Pym. She’s one of my sisters. Our-- our sisters.”

“I suppose, yes, we should--” Bucky said. “This is Natasha. My sister. In a different way from blood; shared trauma, perhaps. We were trained together. To be spies, assassins. Along with everyone else in the Red Room, at Hydra Academy.” He was digging through one of the packs on the horses and pulled out a thick, wolf-skin cape. “Here, you look cold.”

“Oh, thank God,” Tony sighed, pulling the cape around his shoulders. “I’m _freezing_.” He glanced up at Miss Romanoff. “Not a lover?” It was a ridiculous question, given the circumstance and the fact that VonDoom’s men would find them any moment, but he couldn’t quite seem to help it.

Natasha made a scoffing sound. “I would break him in half, like a twig,” she said. “Come on, get up, you are not that badly hurt, get on the horse. We have a little surprise for your fiancé.”

“Not,” Tony protested, even as he struggled up out of the snowdrift, “my fiancé. Thank God.” He managed to get to his feet and reached for the horse’s bridle. His hands ached with the cold and he could barely feel the leather in his grip, but it would be enough to haul himself up. He hoped.

Bucky gave him a boost, then put a steadying hand on Tony’s leg. “When we get to the other side of the tunnel, we’ll talk. For now, we must ride like our lives depend on it, because they probably do.”

“Bah, let them come,” Natasha said, throwing herself onto her own horse. “I haven’t had a good fight in months.”

“You _came_ ,” Tony told Bucky, ignoring Natasha’s bravado, or bloodthirst, whichever it was. “That’s all I need to know, for now.”

“I will always come for you,” Bucky said. “ _Always_.” And he said it with fervor, like a vow, with tenderness, like a declaration. The look on his face, half joy at their reunion, half fierce anger that anyone would try to take Tony away, was enough to steal Tony’s breath right out of his lungs.

“Better than any dream,” Tony said, and he reached out to brush Bucky’s cheek with his chilled fingertips. “We--”

“We need to get _moving_ ,” Natasha said sharply. “You two can moon at each other when we’ve shaken the pursuit off.”

“I am very talented,” Bucky said, leaping up onto his own horse with singular grace. “I can accomplish two things at the same time.”

Natasha shook her head. “You would be lost without me, and we both know it.”

“Riding now, banter later,” Tony suggested. “Which way?”

“Through the woods,” Natasha said, “and toward the tracks. The passes were snow-filled but VonDoom’s trains are on time. Not for much longer, though.”

“We set explosives,” Bucky said, off-handed. Like it was no big deal. “Should have months before he digs his way out to come bother us.”

“You set-- Where did you get explosives?” Tony demanded, turning his horse to follow Natasha.

“Apparently Nadia had been brewing them in the Tower,” Natasha said. “Kobik was having dreams for _months_ that her sister was going to set the castle on fire. She was very nearly correct.”

“How was I supposed to know she was a full-blown precognitive?” Bucky demanded, twisting around in his saddle. “The experiments didn’t say anything about that. I thought she got what the rest of us have.”

“And what--” Tony paused, setting his jaw. “After the tunnel,” he amended. “There will be quite a lot of talking, it seems.”

They rode. It was cold, the snow had frozen into tiny dots of ice and the wind whipped these up into Tony’s face. His hands were stiff around the reins, but they didn’t dare stop for more than a few moments at a time to get their bearings. Tony wrapped his hands in strips torn from a spare shirt in the pack. It might even have been Natasha’s, he wasn’t sure he cared.

Bucky passed him a flask of what turned out to be unbelievably harsh vodka at one point. “It does not help,” he admitted, “but you will not feel it, so badly.”

“I’ll take what I can get,” Tony said, and tipped the flask up for another swallow. It wasn’t much less harsh going down his throat a second time, but he could already feel the slight glow of the alcohol in his belly, like a banked ember being coaxed to life. He took a third gulp, then decided it would only slow them down if he wound up sliding out of the saddle, and handed it back.

Finally, they reached the tracks, and it was easier going after that, since the land was flat and the snow wasn’t quite so deep. “The train was… delayed, leaving the next station. So long as we’re through before darkness, we will not endanger any innocents, although we may inconvenience them incredibly.”

“I don’t think I care about the troubles of people who want to go to Latveria in the wintertime,” Natasha declared, and she finished off the rest of the vodka. “They would thank us, if they knew better.”

“Probably,” Tony agreed. He wondered if this was the route by which VonDoom’s lackeys had brought him in. He glanced up at the sky, and peered down the track toward the tunnel. “How long is it?”

“About four miles,” Bucky said. “And we’ll have to walk the horses. It’s too dark to ride and risk them twisting a leg under us.”

Tony glanced up at the angle of the sun. It was doable, though they’d have to hope they didn’t run into any major delays. “Very well. You needn’t worry that I won’t keep up.”

“We’ll be fine,” Bucky said, and he threw himself back off his mount, reaching up to give Tony a hand down. “If we must, we will abandon the horses and run. But I won’t leave you behind, and I’m not about to lose you now.”

Tony smiled tremulously, feeling his heart pound in his chest in a way VonDoom had never inspired. “No,” he agreed, “you’re not losing me again.”

The darkness inside the train tunnel was palpable. Pressing on them from all directions. And while the tunnel cut the wind, it was still cold. It was cold and he was having to walk. Each muscle in his body protested. And he got sweaty, and still cold, which seemed desperately unfair somehow.

Natasha kept a light aglow, just enough for Tony to not walk directly into the walls. There wasn’t a lot of spare room inside the tunnel either. If they didn’t make it through before dark, it wasn’t going to be innocent passengers that were at risk, but them. There would be no room in the tunnel between the wall and the train. They’d be torn to pieces.

Morbid imagination, Tony scolded himself. Always getting the better of him.

Near the center, Natasha stopped to adjust something with one set of the explosives, to better direct the blast, she said. 

The idea being to bring down the tunnel, which would keep Doom in Latveria for at least the winter, probably longer. And if it looked like he might be gearing up for revenge, Bucky would have time to gather and train troops to defend.

Tony nodded and eyed the way Natasha had the explosives set. Doubtless a very professional job, but-- “If you can shift the whole bulk over here, there’s a better than sixty percent chance the combined heat and force of the explosion will warp the track. That will slow them down even more.”

He could feel more than see Natasha’s dubious look in the darkness. 

Bucky, on the other hand, handed Tony off his horse’s lead. “Hold him, I’ll move it.”

Tony took the lead and nodded. “I promise, the change is worth the effort.”

Bucky shifted, very carefully. “I believe you.” Then, to Natasha, “I believe him. The man can do math the likes of which confounds even Richard.”

“Are you ever going to call him RJ,” Nastasha wondered.

“When he gives me leave to do so,” Bucky said, “then yes. It is, I think, the very last step in the long, drawn out dance of this relationship.” With a grunt of effort, he sat the barrel down in its new location, being very careful not to jostle it.

Tony inspected the new position. “Yes, good.” He handed the horse’s lead back to Bucky. “Shall we be on our way, then?” The sooner he was out of this tunnel, the better.

Tony rather thought, several years from this moment, he would wake up in a sweat, dreaming about a never ending walk through darkness and cold, in fear, and hoping to get out in time. He wasn’t sure it wasn’t a dream now.

Except he couldn’t imagine a dream of fear and cold and pressing darkness that was also interrupted by these flashes of warmth and joy, whenever Bucky pressed close for a moment, or when Tony caught Bucky watching him like some wondrous and precious rarity.

Finally, _finally_ , a dim light shone ahead of them, not a reflection from Natasha’s lamp, but something warmer.

“Not much longer,” Bucky said, and it seemed that it was as much a comfort for him as reassurance for Tony. “There’s a town, maybe another mile or two down the track. We can get rooms there, before the long ride home.”

The promise of a warm room, with a seat before the fire and hot food for his frozen insides, was almost as good as the way Bucky looked at him. “I look forward to it,” he said. “Are we expected, or will we be rousting the innkeepers from their Christmas merriment?”

“James paid for the rooms before we left,” Natasha said. “And meals and baths. If we are not entirely expected, neither are we unprepared. We were unsure. Now, clear the tunnel, and that quickly.”

“As you command, m’lady.” Tony’s horse had no qualms about scrambling out of the tunnel into the light of the lowering sun. He didn’t stop there, either, but swung up into the saddle and urged the horse further away from the tunnel mouth. When the explosion came, it would be _loud_ , and might well scatter debris some distance away.

Bucky and Natasha were not far behind, racing for shelter, their horses churning snow before them. 

The ground shook when the explosions went off, throwing everything into madness and confusion, while the horses screamed in terror, and the whole mountainside seemed to shake.

Fortunately, it didn’t last very long.

“Well, that was exciting,” Nastasha said, throwing her hair back. “I still would have rather had a good fight.”

“We’ll put you down to lead a battalion if Doom decides the insult is worth crossing the mountains,” Tony shot back.

“You couldn’t keep her away from an actual battle with chains and a cage,” Bucky said. “I know. I’ve tried.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part of this chapter is mostly smut. If you'd like to skip it, click here.

The inn was small, but tidy and warm. The celebrations had been somewhat disrupted by the collapse of the tunnel, but Bucky turned loose a purse heavy with coin, announced that drinks were on him, and the train passengers were soon enjoying what luxuries the village had to offer.

If nothing else, it was viewed as something of a miracle that the train had been delayed somewhat prior to the mountain collapsing.

Bucky retrieved their keys from the innkeeper. 

“Have fun explaining,” Natasha said. “I’ll be in the next room if you feel the need for backup. Or to be avenged when he kills you. Otherwise, don’t bother me until morning.”

“Is she always so unsettling?” Tony wondered, watching her go, then shook it off before Bucky could respond. “I believe I was promised a bath. Will you show me the way?”

“She is,” Bucky said. “She was -- like me -- fully trained. It makes for an unsettling experience.” Bucky took his hand. “This way.”

The room was in the basements of the inn, one on either side, with a thick steam room before the actual bath, set deep into the floor and filled with warm water. “Here, you’re frozen solid, practically,” Bucky said. “Let me help you.” And he worked at the ties of Tony’s clothes to loosen them. “I am entirely at your command. But I do not even know where to start telling you our story.”

Tony considered it as he tried to help Bucky remove his clothes, mostly unsuccessfully. “Start with -- how was my dream _real?_ How were we able to... to communicate? I thought, I would have _sworn_ it was a dream, borne out of my own longing.”

“It was real,” Bucky said. “At least, as far as it seems; Kobik called your dreaming self to her. Many… many years ago, a man named Erskine invented a formula, and those who were given it. Well, most of them died. But some of us, we lived. And-- it made us stronger. Faster. We heal incredibly quickly. Erskine said that it enhanced us, the people we already were. What was strong becomes stronger. Unfortunately, what was bad, becomes worse.”

“That sounds... ominous.” Tony managed to pull his feet free of his boots and shucked his trousers without any trace of modesty. He was far too cold for that. He climbed immediately into the bath, hissing at the ache of the heat under his skin. “So you, and Kobik... RJ as well? Miss Romanoff?”

“And many others besides,” Bucky said. “We were… traded. Sold, as children. I wasn’t supposed to be the Boyar; my father was the Boyar before me, but my mother was a common serving wench. She…. when she told my father about it, he sold me off, to cover the debts. They came to collect when I was twelve. Which is how I came to be of Hydra. Natasha was the same. Most of us… became better than we were. Some became… much worse. But in the end, some few of us decided what we had to do, more than anything… was be free.”

“I cannot blame you for that,” Tony said. “A terrible thing, to do to children.” He leaned on the lip of the bath and watched Bucky solemnly. “And you brought the children away with you?”

“Not at first,” Bucky said. “Natasha and I were first. We… lived together at Halfway for a year or more while-- well, they give us medicine there, and for a long time we were very ill. And then we needed a safe place for everyone, and money and resources. This has been many years, building it up. Several of the Red Room students have been smuggled out, made safe. Fit to go back to a new life. Two years ago, we succeeded in an assault against Hydra, shut down the program. Brought Richard and Kobik out. Last year we found a few other stragglers, including Nadia.”

Tony nodded. “Well and good, but it doesn’t explain how Kobik can... summon my dreaming self to her. That’s the result of this... formula? Can you manage similar feats?” It was unsettling, to think that there might be several such people in the world.

“I don’t know how Kobik does what she does,” Bucky said. Slowly, he peeled out of his own layers, unhooked his prosthetic and let it rest on a pile of towels. “I didn’t even know she could, until two weeks ago. I knew she was very bright and very sensitive, but-- psychic? Dreamwalking? Those are myths. Stories to tell people when they’ve had too much to drink. And yet, there you were, exactly where she said you’d be. Meeting us, as if you heard our plans.”

Tony nodded. “I did. Several times, really, though it wasn’t until the last that anyone but her realized I was there.” He shook his head. “It was odd.”

“It was even odd to me,” Bucky said, pushing his trousers down and following Tony into the bath. “And I have seen quite a number of odd things in my life.”

Tony sighed and moved a little, pressing against Bucky, warmth he could feel even despite the heat of the water. “I’m glad you came,” he said. “I was beginning to despair.”

“I already had been made victim of it,” Bucky said. “And all I kept thinking was how stupid I’d been. That I would give anything, everything. Just to have you back. Safe and sound.”

Tony brushed his knuckles down Bucky’s cheek, smiling a little at the brush of beard there. “And now that you do?”

Bucky caught Tony’s hand in his own, kissed his knuckles. “I didn’t know-- I didn’t know how badly it would hurt for you to go. To have no idea where you were, or how to get you back. I didn’t know how lost I would feel; and worse, there was some reason to believe you’d just-- left us. Nadia… well, she’s not quite right, even now. We hope she will improve, but she was very little aid to telling us what had happened. And then she kept telling us a real boy brought her a dead bird, so-- I didn’t know if it was real or not.”

Tony laughed, startled. “I’d forgotten about the bird. The poor child. And I’ve lost her wings for good. I fear she’ll be quite cross with me.”

“What, there was-- really? Why did you bring her a dead bird?” Bucky ducked back in the water to get his hair wet, then gently poured a few handfuls of water of Tony’s head. “You’re a mess, it’s a wonder you’ve any hair left at all, with the landing you pulled.”

“The bird came courtesy of Alpine,” Tony said. “I was taking it to the rubbish heap when she saw me.” He felt heat climbing his neck. “I... saw you letting Miss Romanoff into your rooms, and may have jumped to a few conclusions,” he admitted.

“What--” Bucky blinked a few times, then-- “Oh. Oh, _oh_ , my god. You--” Bucky shook his head, splattering water droplets everywhere. “You thought she was _my lover_. No. No, that’s-- the serum. The serum they gave us, that makes us what we are… makes us stronger, faster. But it doesn’t make those things from nothing. If I want to fight, I still need to train. Richard has to practice with his guns. We-- Tash and I train together. She’s my sparring partner. I don’t dare… I would break someone who was normal. I wouldn’t mean to, but… that’s all we were doing, I swear.”

“That makes sense,” Tony allowed. “And, I suppose, explains how you danced together as if you knew each other very well, indeed.” His mouth tugged into a wry grimace. “But we... there were no promises between us. You don’t have to explain, or...” He shrugged. “We had agreed, had we not? You had every right to seek a lover.”

“Yes, I had promised to leave you alone,” Bucky said. “To-- to not make your life entangled with ours. I confess, I have a habit of bringing in servants and assistants who… have reason to need a safe place, and to whom secrecy is necessary. Frank and Karen… well, they have their secrets, and I know that I can trust them. And you, hounded out of your nation by scandal. You would have been, should have been, desperate enough for a home and work. It was not my intention-- to grow to care for you. And then I thought, well, why should you care for me in return? I should let you alone to live your life.”

“Even if I had no wish to be left alone?” Tony wondered. “Or to live my life apart from you?” He closed his eyes, pressed his hands, wet and finally warm again, against his face. “I might have stayed in Latveria, if I hadn’t learned to care for you and the children. I could have been wealthy and pampered and adored. The very idea left me cold. Where you are... that is home.”

“Then,” Bucky said, low and urgent, “come home with me. With me. No more pretense, no more lies, no more secrets. Let me make it up to you. I’ve… I’ve put you through so much, out of wrong-headed decisions and the belief that you would not want what I had to offer. I’m sorry.”

“No more than I’ve put myself through, or you, for that matter, with my own assumptions and misguided priorities.” Tony glanced up and found himself caught in the snare of Bucky’s slate-gray eyes. “No more lies and secrets,” he agreed. “I’m yours, for as long as you will have me.”

Bucky made a deep, throaty sort of laugh. “Both immediately and for eternity, I shall have you.”

A shudder of something -- relief? desire? -- pushed through him, and Tony found himself wrapped in Bucky’s arm, though he wasn’t sure which of them had moved first. “I love you,” he confessed, a breathless whisper barely louder than the soft hiss of steam rising from the water.

“You relieve me, greatly,” Bucky said. “I don’t even know when I gave you my heart, but it has been yours all along. My love. My life. For you.”

Tony surged forward, sealing his mouth to Bucky’s, desperate to taste what he’d been dreaming of for months.

Tony found himself pulled into Bucky’s lap, straddling his thighs, moving against each other almost desperately, the heat of the water and the chill of the air a brutal combination against Tony’s skin. Bucky was holding him, finally, touching him, finally. Their mouths met, tongues moving together toward a single goal. Bucky made soft, urgent noises against Tony’s lips, and when he pulled back to breathe, it sounded almost like a sob of relief. “Tony--”

“Yes,” Tony said. He didn’t know what he was agreeing to; it didn’t matter. Whatever Bucky would have of him, he wanted to give. “Bucky, yes, I’m here, I’m yours.”

Bucky kissed him, and kissed him, practically devouring him, nearly inhaling him. Pressed them so close together they were nearly one, not able to tell where Tony left off and Bucky began. “Even when I didn’t have you,” Bucky said, between hot, fevered kisses, “losing you nearly broke me. I didn’t know what to do, or how to go on.”

“That said, I now know how to go on,” Bucky said, grinning, and then lifted Tony bodily out of the bathing tub. “And ain’t down here, where there’s nowhere soft to rest after I love you. Grab a towel an’ your clothes. Won’t anyone see us, this time of night.”

A surge of desire nearly knocked Tony off his feet, so intense he was dizzy with it. He fumbled a towel around his hips and scooped up his clothes with no regard at all for whether they’d be wrinkled. Even those simple tasks seemed to take forever, distracted as he was by watching Bucky doing the same.

Soon enough, they were up the stairs, down the hall, shushing each other and laughing softly, nearly drunk on it. Didn’t matter; most of the inn was drunk and if someone did happen to see them, it wouldn’t be of a concern in the morning, while everyone was nursing their hangovers. Bucky fumbled with his arm, and the lock on the door, but got them inside without much delay.

The instant the door was closed and locked again, they were on each other again, tangled limbs and hungry mouths as they stumbled toward the bed. The towels fell away -- or were pulled; it didn’t matter which -- and Tony gasped and shivered in delight as they were pressed skin against skin from neck to knee, nothing hidden, nothing forbidden.

Tony caught Bucky’s hands and let himself fall back onto the bed, pulling Bucky after him, over him. “Bucky... I want you, I need you.”

Bucky nodded, seemingly too overcome to speak, moving over Tony with careless desire, brushing against him, rutting against Tony’s thigh. A kiss, a caress, a heavy sigh. “I know, I know, my darling.” He leaned over on one side, braced against the wall to give himself the freedom to run his hand down Tony’s body, gripping his shoulder for a kiss, then trailing downward until his fingers teased at Tony’s hip. 

A soft whine escaped Tony’s throat as his body twisted, seeking the touch he craved the most. “More, love, I need more of you.” His hands plunged into Bucky’s hair, thick and soft, and he pulled Bucky in for more of those searing, maddening kisses.

Bucky gave him what he needed, a firm hand on his cock, stroking easily, thumbing over the head, and then down again, along the shaft, friction and pressure and tenderness. “You’re so beautiful,” Bucky told him, earnestly. 

Tony arched into the touch helplessly. “I’ve dreamed of this,” he panted. “Longed for it, your hand on me, just like this. You--” He broke off with a shudder of sensation, his fingers digging into Bucky’s shoulders. “Is there oil? Can we-- I want you in me.”

Bucky nuzzled at Tony’s ear. “Yes,” he said. “I want that-- We weren’t sure how… deep we’d need to penetrate Doom’s castle. There’s oil. For hinges and th’ like, but it’ll smooth our way now.” Bucky pressed his lips to Tony’s throat and gave out a muffled burst of laughter. “That… sounded right dirty, I know.”

Tony laughed as well, breathless. “I find I don’t mind, just at the moment.” He lifted his head to nip at the curve of Bucky’s neck and shoulder, and then again, pleased with the rumbling sound of pleasure Bucky made. “Tell me how you want me.” One-armed, the usual positions would be awkward, though Bucky’s extraordinary strength at least made them possible.

“You’ll have to straddle me,” Bucky said, “if I’m to have a hand free to help you find your pleasure. I can lay flat, an’ you’ll have weight and leverage to guide you, or sit in my lap, facin’ away, and I’ll be able to guide myself in.”

“I’d rather see you,” Tony decided. He put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and pushed gently, rolling them until Tony was on top. He paused there to enjoy the way that changed the sensations, the way their bodies pressed and slid together, but his need was too great to allow him to linger long. “Oil, then?”

“In my satchel,” Bucky said, pointing, his hand shaking with need. “Not so far a trip as we’ve already come.”

Tony kissed Bucky again, fiercely, hungrily. “I’ll be right back.” He scrambled off the bed, legs weak and wobbling with desire, and grabbed for the satchel, pulling it closer to the one lamp and digging through its varied and occasionally odd contents.

Bucky rolled up on one side to watch, eyes gleaming in the darkness, expression almost feral with need. “Everything one could need for an adventure,” he said, almost apologetically. “But ain’t always the best organized bag in the world.”

Tony huffed amused agreement, but finally found the little bottle of oil. He left the bag where it was and climbed back onto the bed, throwing his leg over Bucky’s hips like he was mounting a horse. “It brought you to me,” he allowed, teasing, “so I’ll let it slide this once.”

“See I’ll be on my mettle to get in with your good graces,” Bucky teased. He thumbed the cap off the little bottle. “Here, tip me some an’ I’ll get to work at once.”

Tony poured a little into Bucky’s hand, then dripped a little on his own fingers and reached down to slide his hand over Bucky’s cock, thick and hot and hard.

Bucky groaned, pushing up into that touch, face going slack with pleasure. “Lift yourself up a little,” Bucky told him, and then his hand was down, between Tony’s legs, the heel brushing against Tony’s balls. “Don’t usually miss m’ arm all that much,” Bucky said, “but I’d like t’ have it now, so I could stroke you while I--” He pressed his fingers over the opening to Tony’s body, rubbing at the entrance, testing the muscle.

Tony let his head drop to Bucky’s shoulder, trying to coax his own body into relaxing, allowing Bucky that entrance. “Ah, oh, yes, yes, that’s--” It felt, as it always did at first, like a strange ache, his body rebelling against the intrusion. Tony breathed in deep, concentrating on the warm scent of Bucky’s skin and hair, and by increments, his muscles eased until the sensation was nothing but good, a pressure that soothed somewhat the fiery need pulsing through him. “That’s it,” he sighed, pushing into it.

Bucky hummed, then breached him with two fingers, thick and broad and stretching him, getting him slick and ready. “You’re so _warm_ ,” Bucky said, like it was a marvel. “Spent so many years bein’ cold, and didn’t even know what I was missing.”

“No more cold,” Tony promised. He rocked into the touch, relishing the slight burn of the stretch, the smooth glide of Bucky’s fingers against his passage. “And no more missing. I want-- _oh_ , there, that’s...” He shivered in reaction at the jolts that echoed through his body.

Bucky crooked his fingers, seeking, and then, once Tony’s hiss of pleasure told him he’d found what he was looking for, rubbed gently at the center of Tony’s need, driving him higher. Bucky gazed up at him, eyes glittering in the firelight. “You’re perfect, look at you,” Bucky told him. “There you are.”

Tony let that spark of desire ignite, let those soft passes fan the flame higher and higher still, until he was all but weeping with desperate need. “Bucky,” he groaned, “Bucky, love, I need you, I need it, _now_.” 

“Always in a rush, darling,” Bucky teased, but he groaned, pulling himself free. “Up you go, then.” He helped to lift Tony up. “You’ll need to guide me in, love.”

Tony nodded and sat up a little more, finding an angle where he could control his movement more finely. “Hold it steady, and I can-- Yes, that’s perfect, I--” He lined them up, feeling the blunt press of Bucky’s cock against his rim. “Oh, oh yes.” He sank back onto it, letting his own weight pull him down slowly. He felt impossibly full, panting open-mouthed at the stretch. “You feel so _big_.”

“Flatter me, do,” Bucky said, and he was gritting his teeth, head thrown back against the pillow. The muscles in his belly were jumping, his thighs shaking and he rocked slowly up into Tony’s body, letting gravity do most of the work. “Want you, God. Tony.”

“You have me,” Tony assured him. “I only need a moment to, to adjust.” He shifted a little, straightened more and let himself fall the last fingerwidth, until there was no deeper that Bucky could get. He reached down to stroke his own cock, slowly, letting the pleasure of it ripple through him, relaxing him further.

Bucky made a soft, eager sound, then strained, his thighs pushing Tony up, nudging deeper at those places inside him. Slow, letting Tony slide down again, an exercise of being impaled on it, rocking back and forth as Bucky worked him, his hand gripping Tony’s thigh, probably leaving a set of bruises that would be soft and sore in the morning.

Tony couldn’t bring himself to care, in the moment. The slick slide of Bucky in him, the movement of their bodies together, the quiet moans and gasps that echoed between them, were all that mattered. “Bucky,” he groaned, “Bucky, _God_...”

“Yes,” Bucky said, and then pushed up again, quicker now, the slide burning a moment, before becoming perfect fire. Bucky brought him down for a kiss, his body shifting, hips rolling in smaller, more delicate movement. “I’ve got you. I’m here. You’re with me. I love you.”

“Love you,” Tony returned. The change of angle made everything bigger and better, deeper and hotter. The kisses they exchanged were sloppy, too hurried and too desperate for delicacy and precision, but perfect for all of that. “I’m here, I’m with you. I’m yours, and you’re mine.”

Bucky made a desperate noise, like a man trying to lift a wagon, and then he rolled them, still joined, until his weight was on Tony, pinning him down. “I need, I need, I--” Bucky surged in him, hips snapping up, driving into Tony’s body, one hand braced by Tony’s shoulder, holding himself up.

“Yes, my love,” Tony urged. “Yes, whatever you need, anything, everything. All of me is yours.”

Skin coated in sweat, he was bronze and antique gold in the fire light, working in Tony, rocking him. “Bring your legs up,” he begged more than said, and drove in again, harder, faster, until they were moving in a strong, eager rhythm. 

Tony wrapped his legs up over Bucky’s hips, rolling his spine to match Bucky’s rhythm. He wormed a hand between them to work his cock, reaching for the summit he could feel approaching. “God-- now,” he begged. “Bucky, sweetheart, give it to me now...” Unbearable pleasure was collecting in his balls, a pressure that would burst free any moment.

Bucky made some sound, some impossible, delicious noise, buried his face against the safe crook in Tony’s neck and surged. He groaned, and everything got suddenly much slipperier, his own fluids easing the way. Bucky pushed through that messy wetness, again. “God, Tony,” he said, shivering all over. “So sweet, you’re so sweet, I--”

Tony twisted his wrist and threw himself over the edge, letting the white-hot sensation envelop him, carry him away, Bucky’s weight a comforting press on his skin, Bucky’s breath against his neck. “Love you,” he managed, when he could breathe properly again, nuzzling against Bucky’s shoulder, and then laughed, an exhausted huff. “Happy Christmas.”

Bucky laughed breathlessly. “Happy Christmas,” he agreed. “The best, I swear it.”

Tony hummed. “The best I’ve ever had. Although you will see what comes of spoiling me so: I shall expect a gift of similar quality every year, from now on.”

“I shall give it to you,” Bucky said, “as often as you like it.”

* * *

The castle had not, perhaps, changed much in the few months that Tony had been gone. It was not cozier or smaller or more modern. But it was filled with love, and that made all the difference.

Nastasha -- or Tash as she insisted on being called familiarly -- continued to regale Tony with stories from the Red Room, from Hydra, their missions and mistakes, and Tony wasn’t entirely sure when she was telling the truth and when she was pulling one over on him.

When he appealed to Bucky, Bucky just laughed, which was entirely unhelpful.

Kobik attached herself to Tony’s leg like a burr for several days following their return, refusing to be shaken off during the daylight hours, though she more or less willingly complied with the demand that she return to her own room to sleep, so that Tony could spend his nights in Bucky’s room.

RJ was only moderately impressed that Tony had managed to fly out of Doom’s castle, and was mostly lost in the jealousy that Tony got to have adventures and he himself had been left behind. 

Even the other servants seemed glad to see him returned. Karen Page took him aside and told him, in a few words, how Frank’s first wife and children had been murdered by a local lord, and despite all that the man could do, Frank had raised the castle, slaughtered the garrison and had his revenge, thus their need to leave urgently, and close-mouthed, almost hostile manner. But he was, she said, patting his arm, one of them now.

One of them or not, it turned a few heads when Tony insisted that Nadia come down from the tower and attend lessons, and begin practicing to join their small family in public, at meals and simple outings. Tony stood fast, however; the girl was strange and damaged, no question, but not dangerous -- at least, no more dangerous than any of the rest of them -- and she deserved to have as much of a normal life as she could grasp.

“It’s possible,” Bucky said, laying with Tony at his side, “that we can help her. If her course of serum was completed, her mind might heal itself. Over time. Dangerous, though. We’d have to go looking for our makers. I thought Yelena would be the last. Tasha’s blood sister, who is at Halfway as we speak. It helps us, all of us, to spend some time being… unobserved. Halfway is a blessing, when we need to be away from other eyes, watching us. Seeing how different we are.”

Tony shivered, thinking of his lover and his friends going willingly back into the lair of the Hydra. But he couldn’t deny Nadia the opportunity to become all that she could, the chance for sanity and some release from the demons that constantly plagued her mind. “If you go, I’m going with you.”

Bucky pulled him closer. “I’d not willingly have you put yourself in such danger,” he said. “Not without a suit of armor around everything that I find precious.”

“Funny you should say that,” Tony said, willingly curling into Bucky’s embrace. “Nadia’s wings gave me some interesting ideas that I’ve been considering applying to a kind of armor.”

“You’ll have to show me these _interesting ideas_ , my love,” Bucky said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that! :) Next Sunday, we will start posting Supernatural Causes, which is the [Forever Home](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1425667) story that won tisfan's annual "March Madness" contest. And if you're not already following [The Groomsman](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24903898), which is our Tuesday/Thursday fic at the moment, then please check it out!

**Author's Note:**

> Before it gets started: We are _not_ going into much detail about the scandal that Tony is trying to escape. It's pretty much just a plot device that exists for us to put him in this situation. So feel free to speculate, but don't expect us to confirm or deny any of your theories. :D


End file.
